


Happy Days and Lonely Nights

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: The Captain America Adventure Hour [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Lives, Domestic, Episode Related, F/M, Letters, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>Sequel to <i>Keep Right On To The End of The Road</i>. Covers events in the first season of the Agent Carter TV show.</p><hr/><p>
  <i>"Our boys will be home someday."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I think I've seen that on a poster somewhere. Or perhaps it was a song." Peggy sighed. "I envy how well the scientists have taken to you."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Amanda lifted a shoulder. "In my experience, scientists appreciate intelligence and will forgive a great many sins if you have enough of it. I can hold my own in their conversations, and I bring a great deal of knowledge to the table. So they are willing to overlook the unfortunate fact of my gender."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"And perhaps someday you'll save the world."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Perhaps," she conceded, because it was true, in a certain manner of speaking. "But, then, so might you someday."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She sighed a little. "A girl can dream, can't she?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You knew we weren't going to stop at one, right?
> 
> Later chapters will adapt the events of the Agent Carter TV show to our universe. If you haven't seen it you might want to go check it out.
> 
> I continue to apologize for my abuse of the German language.
> 
> Will post Wednesdays and Saturdays.

_New York, Summer 1945_

There was nothing like showing a newcomer around he city you grew up in to help you see it through new eyes. Of course, just coming back from war might have done the same thing.

After the celebrations and parades in Steve's honor settled down, they all had some quiet time. Steve and Peggy did their newlywed house hunting. The other Commandos headed to their respective homes for much needed R&R. And Bucky played tour guide to Amanda.

They were at the Statue of Liberty when he said, "So, my neighborhood is throwing a block party."

He could see her sorting out the implications of that. "Am I invited?"

"My mother told me to bring any of my new friends I wanted."

"I suppose I do qualify." She looked over at him. "Are you going to introduce me as your _freundin_?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Do you want to be outed to my entire family and neighborhood? They'll be all over you."

She tilted her head, staring out at the water. "Perhaps that would be best done in a more intimate setting. I am content to go as one of your war buddies." She glanced back at him. "Will they be angry I'm. . . not American." She hated calling herself German, but it had become very obvious that once people heard her accent the line between Germany and Austria might as well not exist.

"This is a city full of immigrants. And I'll punch anyone who says different. I have a lot of practice at that."

That, at least, made her smile. "All right. I look forward to the party, then." She took his hand, weaving their fingers together. "More exotic food."

"You liked the pizza."

"I did like the pizza," she conceded. "The hamburger, less so. Someday I'll make you schnitzel."

"I have no idea what that is, but I'm sure it's delicious."

She spent the rest of the ferry ride back explaining various dishes from her past. Some of them sounded delicious, others down right nauseating. But he liked anything that made her think of home and smile.

The block party was two days later. It was, of course, mostly for Steve, the neighborhood golden boy. It chaffed Bucky a bit, considering half these people hadn't thought much of Steve when he was a scrawny sick kid. But if Steve could take the accolades in good humor who was he to kick up a fuss? His parents and close neighbors knew the truth.

He was greeted with warmth and sympathy over his arm and he spent a lot of time demonstrating the moving fingers and assuring people that no, it was just like the real thing.

His mother, who was generally tough as iron, was surprisingly teary-eyed during the day, in between supervising cooking and yelling at his father about smoking too many cigarettes. When he'd told her Amanda was a doctor and had saved his life, she'd hugged her with too much force, and then insisted on bringing her inside to show her telegrams she'd gotten—MIA, a retraction, KIA, and a retraction of that—and the gold star she'd put up and taken down. 

Bucky had _no_ idea how, but was certain his mother somehow knew what she was to him. He heard them laughing through the window a few times and saw Amanda helping bring out food and decided she was in good hands. She'd been a little overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd when they'd arrived. Maybe Ma would lend her a wooden spoon to fend people off with.

He ended up hanging out with Steve, Peggy and a couple of the guys they used to play baseball with, reminiscing and hearing war stories from the other guys. They ended up telling the story about the surrendering Germans, because everyone found that funny. Bucky listened with half an ear. Peggy told it best, all dry English accent. He kept an eye out for Amanda, just in case. He didn't know why he felt compelled to, the war was over. But worry was a hard habit to break.

It was getting dark. A lot of the older folks and families with younger kids had headed home. Someone had run out for a couple extra cases of beer a while back and Bucky wondered how many people would be heading to church with hangovers in the morning.

 That was about when he heard a slurred, unfortunately familiar voice saying, "Goddamned Nazi Kraut," somewhere off to his right.

Bucky turned, looking for the man. Joe Samson. All the good men that had died overseas, and Joe Samson had apparently survived. He'd picked on Steve for years, which meant he and Bucky had had a lot of fights. Now he had managed to find Amanda, apparently. 

She had her chin up, spine ramrod straight. His mother was no where to be found. In fact, he didn't see anyone near her that might be trying to defend her. Just Joe and a couple of other rough edged guys holding beers and nodding.

Bucky headed towards the little tableau and was close enough to hear Amanda reply, "I am not German, I am Austrian. And I was an enemy of the Nazis."

"You're all the same," he spit out, which was the last thing before Bucky reached him, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him around.

When he looked back on it later, he realized Joe was awfully lucky he'd grabbed with his left and swung with his right. He was mad enough that he wouldn't have been careful. A good hit from the metal arm might have taken the other man's jaw off.

 As it was, he sprawled on the pavement, hand to his face. It took him a moment to look up and spit, "What the _hell_ , Barnes?"

"Are you _ever_ going to learn to pick on someone your own size?"

Joe scrambled to his feet. "Last I checked, Nazi's weren't big on fair fights."

"She's not a Nazi. Some of us didn't spend the whole war fixing tires a mile behind the front lines and actually met some real ones. Killed some, too." He took a menacing step forward. "More than some."

Joe snarled and faced off with him. Bucky was fully prepared to make this the brawl to end them all when he heard a woman's voice shout, "Joseph David Samson." Joe closed his eyes in pain as Mrs. Samson and Bucky's mother parted the growing crowd like Moses.

 So _that's_ where Ma had gone off to.

Pummeling the guy's face in would probably have been very satisfying. Watching him get lectured by his tiny Irish mother was pretty good, though.

He turned to look for Amanda, and felt a moment of panic when he didn't see her. Then he realized Steve and Peggy had gotten between her and Joe's friends, apparently ready to join the street brawl. They did both move out of Bucky's way. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she tightened her jaw and nodded. He wrapped his arms around her, not caring about the crowd. "You want me to kick his teeth in? I'll do it."

She shook her head. "No. No, it's all right. He has a right to his anger."

"No he doesn't. He didn't fucking _fight_. The Nazi's did worse to you than they ever did to him."

"He really is just kind of an ass," Steve said from behind him and he heard Peggy snort.

"It's all right," Amanda said again, sounding tired.

He sighed, and rubbed her back a little. "I'm sorry."

There was a tap at his shoulder and he turned to find Mrs. Samson there. "My son has something he would like to say."

Bucky turned, keeping his arm around her. Joe looked embarrassed. Bucky glared at him to make it obvious that he could, and would, kick his teeth in if something inappropriate was said.

"I'm sorry for calling you. . . what I called you. I shouldn't have made assumptions or ruined the party for you." His mother cleared her throat. "And thank you for your service."

Amanda drew herself up under Bucky's arm. "I appreciate the apology." She glanced at his mother. "Thank you, Mrs. Samson."

"You're very welcome. I'm sorry I raised a shmuck."

She actually smiled at that. Mrs. Samson shooed Joe away and the crowd began to disperse. Bucky's mother stepped forward and took one of Amanda's hands. "Why don't you come into the apartment and have some tea? All of you. It looks like the party is winding down."

"That sounds great, Ma, thanks," Bucky said. She patted Amanda's hand and led them inside.

Pictures of him, his sister, and Steve lined walls and tables. Peggy and Steve stopped to look at a few while Ma led them to the kitchen and put the kettle on. 

"Sit," she ordered Amanda, who obeyed without a word. "Jimmy, get your girl a cookie, they're where they always are."

"Yes, Ma," he said, glancing over at Amanda. He supposed he had pretty much outed them to the entire neighborhood, hadn't he? 

She smiled in response. "We are bad at keeping secrets."

"I could see the way you were looking at each other," his mother said as she set the kettle on the stove. "I'm happy it's not one of those unfortunate scenarios where no one is admitting their feelings."

"No, ma'am," Amanda said. "We have tried to be very honest." She smiled at Bucky as he put the cookie jar on the table and sat next to her.

"Don't start planning the wedding yet, Ma," he said, before she could comment.

"I would never." She even managed to sound vaguely offended. "I'm sure Amanda needs time to get used to her new situation."

"We both do," he said. "It's been. . . quite a time."

"I'm sure." She brought the teapot to the table, then returned to the stove for the rattling kettle. "I'm so sorry about the Samson boy," she told Amanda. "He's always been cruel. Your accent is lovely."

"Thank you, ma'am," she said softly.

"You'll call me Maureen." Bucky liked that it was an order. That was a tone of voice he remembered from childhood. They probably had a lot in common, actually. He thought about that conversation he'd had with the boys about liking women like one's mother.

"Maureen. That's a lovely name." His mother beamed and handed her a teacup.

"So you're a doctor. I don't think I've ever met a woman doctor before."

Amanda wrapped her hands around the cup. "Germany had the first female doctor in history."

"I think it's wonderful what ladies are able to do these days," she said. 

Figuring she was in good hands, Bucky stepped back into the main room and found Steve and Peggy looking at Ma's box of pictures and some of Steve's old sketchbooks. Steve looked up when he came in. "I can't believe she kept all of these," he said.

"Ma always figured you were the good son she never had."

Steve ducked his head. "You've done all right yourself, you know." 

Laughter echoed from the kitchen, making Bucky smile.

"I think they're gonna be at it a while," he said hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "If you guys want to head out you can go ahead."

Peggy glanced at Steve, then back to him. "Actually, there was something I wished to discuss with Amanda, but perhaps you could pass along the message." He nodded, curious, and she continued. "It's become apparent that housing cost here is very high. And tonight's little display is evidence that post war sentiment is not as kind as it could be. I wanted to offer. . . if Amanda needs somewhere to stay, once you and Steve go back to Europe, she would be more than welcome to stay with me, in whatever flat Steve and I end up finding. For as long as she needs."

He inclined his head. "She has been worried about that. I will ask her. And that would make me feel better, actually. You looking out for her."

"I would think she's more than capable of taking care of herself," Peggy said tartly. "But it will be nice to have someone to share a bottle of wine with at the end of the day."

"There are many different kinds of 'taking care'," he replied.

She inclined her head. "True. Withdrawn."

From the kitchen, his mother exclaimed, "That can not be a real word!"

Bucky laughed. "Oh, now they're into the German."

Ma appeared in the doorway. "Do you know what the German word for carousel is?" she demanded.

"I. . . can't say that I do."

She gestured at Amanda, who had come to stand behind her. "Tell him."

Amanda sipped her tea. "Literally translated is 'horse tornado.'"

"There is a certain logic to that," Peggy said from behind him.

Bucky shook his head. "We went to Central Park. I'm never going to look at the carousel the same again."

Ma shook her head and looked back at Amanda. "Teach me more. I heard you call Jimmy something earlier. Something with an L."

" _Liebling_ ," she said softly, looking at him over his mother's head. "It means favorite. Because he is my favorite person."

He realized he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care. "The feeling is mutual."

He wasn't entirely sure which of them moved first. Maybe Ma nudged her a bit. But Amanda ended up tucked into his side with his arm around her.

"I don't want to keep you kids all night," his mother said, smiling at them fondly. "I'm sure you'll come by again soon."

"We will," he said, reaching out to to hug her with his free arm, without letting go of Amanda. "I promise."

"Good." She pecked his cheek, then Amanda's. "It was very good to meet you. Both of you," she added, moving to hug Steve and Peggy. "I'm glad my boys are in good hands."

They took the subway back into Manhattan, and a taxi to their hotel. Amanda sunk onto the end of the bed with a sigh, and he asked, "You want me to run you a bath?"

She looked up at him and beamed. "I would love that."

He went into the bathroom to get the water going, and she'd changed into a robe by the time he came back out. "Sorry about how that went."

"It wasn't your fault." She stepped forward and slid her arms around him. "Thank you for defending me."

"He's lucky I didn't kill him. Accidentally or otherwise."

Her fingers trailed along the metal of his arm. "That would have put a damper on things." She looked up at his face. "It is not the last time I will be cursed for my heritage. I know you defended Steve, and I do appreciate the rescue, but you can't fight everyone."

"I just. . .don't want anyone to hurt you."

"I can handle hurt," she said. "Angry words are just hot air." Suddenly she tilted her head and smiled. "Though I suppose there would be no harm in carrying a very sharp scalpel around with me."

"I'm going to have to back," he said. "Half of me really doesn't want to."

"I know," she said softly. "We should talk about that. But first we may wish to check the tub before it overflows." 

He kissed the top of her head and went back to the bathroom. He tested the water and turned the taps off. "It's ready." She stepped into the room and peeled the robe off. He would never get tired of looking at her. Steve used to drag him to art galleries, before the war. Most of it was lost on him, but he picked up enough to know he liked Impressionists more than Baroque and preferred things with people in them to landscapes. As she climbed in the tub, with her pale skin and long dark hair, she reminded him of one he'd seen of a group of ladies bathing. Steve had tried to tell him it was supposed to be some goddess and her handmaidens. At the time he'd been too juvenile to care about anything other than naked ladies. Now, though, he wished he could remember the name of the painting, or artist, or even which goddess it was supposed to be.

"I don't know how I got this lucky," he said quietly.

She sank slowly into the water, looking up at him. "You know, I feel the same."

Bucky smiled and sat on the edge of the tub. "Will you still feel like that if I go back to Europe?"

Her expression turned thoughtful and she tipped her head back on the edge of the tub. He liked that she paused to think about it. "I will miss you greatly," she said. "But I worry sometimes. . . we have only known each other in times of great stress. It is not an ideal times to make life changing decisions."

"I've thought about that." He sighed. "It's part of why I haven't, you know. . . asked." 

"It also seems silly to marry you just to say goodbye. Steve and Peggy had a great deal of time together." She paused, flicking a bit of water with her fingers. "We could write to each other. While you're away. Get to know one another."

"Well, I'd hope we were going to write to each other."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "It seems very romantic."

"I will write you every day. How reliable the mail will be, I don't know. But I'll try."

Her fingers curled around his, the right hand so he could feel the heat of her skin, damp from the bath. "I will cherish every one. Who knows, perhaps someday our grandchildren will read them."

"That probably means we'll have to keep them clean."

"Well. Perhaps we'll hold back a few letters for ourselves."

He lifted her hand to kiss it. "Maybe I'll learn German."

"I would be happy to teach you." She stroked his cheek. "Would you care to help me wash my hair."

He grinned. "Among other things."

Her lids drooped. "Well. You can start from the hair and work your way down."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have Work Skins turned off, this may look funky. This is my first attempt wrangling any sort of code into AO3, and I'm really limited in my QA testing environments since I'm home on maternity leave. If anything looks bad for anyone, please leave a comment (with specs), and I'll try to fix. -Olives

There were many things to see and do in New York City. Peggy and Steve were not doing any of them. Bucky had wanted to show Amanda around and they had been out and about. But Steve was a local and Peggy had spent enough time there in the early days of the war that she didn't need the nickel tour.

Besides, the inside of their hotel room was much, much more entertaining. 

Peggy stretched grandly and reached for the now cold cup of room service coffee balanced precariously on her nightstand. "I'd been thinking."

Steve leaned over to kiss her shoulder. "What about?"

"House shopping. We don't know when they'll send you back and I'd hate to have to do it alone."

He flopped back onto his pillow. "Yeah, you would. Apartment hunting in New York is awful on a good day."

"Well, and I'd like you to have a say in it." She poked his side. "And I'm hoping for a Captain America discount on the rent."

He tilted his head. "You do make a valid point. Might as well milk it."

She put the coffee back on the table and rolled into his side, curling against him. "Where would you like to look? Back home in Brooklyn?"

"You’re the one who will have to go back and forth to work from it. I assumed you'd want to live in Manhattan."

"I'm not afraid of a little commute. I like Brooklyn. It has fond memories."

He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "We could buy a house."

She laughed a little, shaking her head. "I don't know if you've heard, but those things are rather expensive."

"Well. Not nearly as much in Brooklyn. I have some money. Seems like a decent thing to buy with it."

Head tilted, she leaned back to study him. "I didn't know you had money tucked away. Enough for a house?"

He shrugged. "I think so. I negotiated some royalties on the use of my face for commercial purposes, plus a share of the revenue on the comics I drew. I illustrated many of the Captain America comic books, up until I came to actually fight," he added. "Under a pseudonym, of course."

She stared at him a moment. "How much do you have?"

Peggy watched him make that face he did when he was embarrassed and trying to convince you whatever amazing feat he'd just pulled off was not actually anything particularly special. She'd call it false modesty in anyone else, but with him, she was entirely sure it was genuine. "Stark convinced me I should invest it and not just leave it 'in a tin can'. Which it wasn't, by the way. It was in a bank. The FDIC seems perfectly reliable."

She was starting to become concerned this was an amount of money that would cause her heart trouble. She was tempted to just drop the matter and trust that there was more than enough for any house they wanted the purchase. But she had never let a matter drop once curiosity got the best of her. Besides, they were married. "Steve, darling. How _many_ houses can we buy?"

He rubbed his forehead. "That. . . would depend on the caliber of house you desire."

The level of discomfort he was showing was almost fascinating. "Something simple. Enough space for us and some eventual children. And all the guests we'll have visiting."

"Ah. Well. Yes. We could definitely get some of those. But one is probably sufficient for our needs."

She chuckled and leaned over to kiss him. "Well, that's very reassuring."

"The truth is, I haven't paid much attention to it so I don't know the precise amount at the moment. The man who manages Stark's money manages it. The last time I inquired as to the balance it was after we thought Bucky had died, and I wanted to send something to his family. It was around forty thousand at the time."

Yes, she was fairly certain her heart skipped a bit there. "Oh, my Lord."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." 

"It's all right. One must be wary of gold diggers," she teased.

"Stark insisted it would improve the class of women who showed up naked in my hotel room." His eyes did a slow perusal over her, like there was something new to see. "At the moment I can't imagine how."

She laughed, even while she blushed. "If any try they'll have to answer to me."

His eyes widened and she could tell by the look on his face that he was likely picturing some sort of fight between her and said naked interloper. Pressing her advantage, she ran her nails down his chest. "I'm quite proficient in hand-to-hand combat, you know."

He shivered a little, and dipped his head down to kiss her. "I am very well aware of that."

They got distracted kissing a minute, then Peggy made a valiant effort to finish the conversation. "So. House hunting in Brooklyn."

His mouth moved down her throat. "We are in agreement."

Her fingers sank into his hair. "Tomorrow." He ran his tongue along her collarbone and she shuddered. "Perhaps the day after."

Two days later, they were finally forced into going outside and doing something productive, since her cycle started. Though she was particularly amused that while nearly every man she'd ever met had practically crawled the wall at any mention of the existence of Ladies Things, Steve just shrugged and noted that it wasn't as if they had to wash the sheets. She chose to look at its arrival as reassurance there were no surprises imminent.

They took the subway out to Brooklyn to meet with the real estate agent Steve's accountant had recommended. He seemed like a nice enough man, not too star struck with Steve, and quite happy to find them a nice house that was big enough for a family but not so huge that Peggy would feel lost when Steve headed back to the front.

And then house hunting suddenly turned her husband—one of the most level headed and reasonable people she knew—into the pickiest man in New York City. He found something wrong with every single place they saw.

Bye the end of the afternoon the real estate agent seemed rather disillusioned with Captain America and she was seriously considering hitting a liquor store on the way home.

"Darling," she tried on the way to the last house on the list. "If you're reconsidering buying something just say so."

"Of course not. We can't live in the hotel. None of them were, I don't know, what I pictured for my house."

She stifled a sigh. It was a big decision and it was only the first day. She tucked her arm around his waist. "When we get back to the hotel - after this last one - perhaps we should make a list of what you want in a house. To help narrow our search."

"I suppose I could just—" he broke off, frowning at something out the window. "Stop the car."

The agent obeyed, pulling over as close to the curb as he could.  
 "What is it?" Peggy asked.

Steve opened the door and got out, leaving her with not a lot of options but to follow him. He walked half a block back, and stopped in front of a brownstone. It had a small sign in the window that said "For Sale". It was also four stories high, looked like it could be a hundred years old, and was in a neighborhood that would probably be most optimistically described as "borderline".

She glanced back at the agent, who shrugged broadly. "Wait here," she told him, then walked to where Steve was standing. "Darling?"

"See, this is a house," he replied.

Studying the house, she tried to see it through his eyes. "Is this more like what you grew up near?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "We had two rooms. It was more of a tenement than anything else. My father died in the first war. My mother did the best she could."

"Is this the type of house you dreamed of having?" she offered.

"They're old and outdated now. White elephants. But I always thought you could fix one up. Make it look nice again."

Oh, if there was any doubt she loved him, this would quench it. She turned to the real estate agent, still at his car, smoking a cigarette. "This one," she called out.

He came over to them, and squinted up at it. "Seriously?"

"It's a project," Peggy said when Steve looked down at her uncertainly. "I do like projects."

The way he grinned at her made the prospect of a house renovation seem less daunting. He didn't ever ask for very much, did he?

The agent looked rather flummoxed but pulled out his notepad to write down the address and information on the For Sale sign. "I'll make contact, let you know when it's time to sign paperwork."

Steve tipped her chin up and kissed her. "Thank you."

*

**April 10, 1946**

Dearest James,

Spring has officially come to New York, or so the men at work tell me. It seems to be equal parts sunny days and pouring rain, which I'm told is normal. Baseball has started up, as I am reminded on a nearly daily basis. Apparently, the last of the players have returned from war and this season is set to be very exciting. If I remember correctly I am a Dodgers fan? Inquiring minds want to know.

The house is coming along nicely. Spring means I am actually seeing results in my garden, which seems to mystify Peggy. I kept the small victory garden and think I might be able to coax some vegetables out of it before it's time to plant fall squash. Most of the little plot is going to be flowers, though. I want to bring a little beauty into the world.

I miss you. There are so many little moments that seem less sweet because I cannot share them with you. Not that you would care much for gardening, but I'm sure you and Steve could have sat on the porch with beers while I dug plots.

It's good, I think, that I miss you in these moments. It means I picture my life with you, despite the absence. And I do think

The alarm at Amanda's elbow chimed and she put her pen down, reaching over to turn it off. Bad dreams had woken her just before dawn and she had decided to take time to work on a letter to James until it was time to get ready for work.

She dressed and pinned her hair up and went to the kitchen to start breakfast before Peggy came down. The wood stairs creaked under her feet, but everything in the house creaked. Amanda liked it. It had character. Many, many things in America were shiny and new—back home she wasn't even sure a house less than a hundred years old would even be considered "old", but here this was quite quaint. 

The kitchen was updated, though. She admitted she'd fallen a bit in love with the stove, though. Peggy claimed she was going to make her fat with the full breakfasts and elaborate dinners she enjoyed cooking.

She was halfway through making breakfast when Peggy came downstairs. "I can smell that all the way upstairs."

"The butcher snuck me an extra link of sausage this week." She turned it in the pan before checking the eggs. "He told me his mother was German and I remind him of her."

"I think he has a crush on you." 

Amanda snorted and nodded thanks when Peggy refilled her tea cup. "Well, between him and the the green grocer making eyes at you we'll be quite well taken care of."

"No, I discovered the other day that the grocer wants me to get a comic book signed by Steve. So if we get desperate, we're down to the butcher."

"And he's fifty if he's a day," Amanda sighed. The sausage was starting to split, so she took it off the heat before sliding the eggs onto a plate. "You know, if it will help, I am rather good at mimicking penmanship." She mimed writing in the air before bringing the food to the table. 

"I don't think we're quite desperate enough to exchange forgery for food," Peggy said, digging into her eggs. 

Amanda sank into her seat and sipped her tea before taking up her own utensils. "I think I'll be able to meet for lunch today, if you're inclined." It was rare that their schedules lined up such that they could see each other at work, despite being only a few floors apart. The lab that Amanda work at kept her busy trying to recreate the serum that Erskine had invented. Or, at least, parts of it. She refused to create super soldiers to become cannon fodder. But the healing aspects had many applications and should be able to be separated from the other effects. Theoretically, at least.

"I always have time for lunch," Peggy said with a sigh. "Assuming I've not been completely occupied by getting the lunch orders for others."

"You can bring it back for them after we've eaten. I'll help you spit in the sandwiches."

"You always know just how to cheer me up," she said with a laugh. Peggy's colleagues at the SSR field office didn't take her seriously. Amanda rather thought that being Captain Rogers's wife would earn her some level of respect. And possibly it did, but they still treated Peggy like a glorified secretary.

After breakfast they put their dishes in the sink to soak and gathered their bags and coats for their stroll to the subway. "What are your thoughts on pets?" she asked Peggy as they made their way down the block.

"Pets?"

"Yes. Cats. Dogs. Small furry things. Keep you company, sleep on your bed, require care."

"I take it you would like one?"

"I'd been thinking about it. The nightmares are bad, at times, and getting worse. I thought it might be nice to have something warm and alive there when I wake. To ground me." The dreams had been easier when Bucky was home. His presence had settled her, even on the rare occasions her thrashing didn't wake him. She shrugged and added. "It is also spring. Perhaps I am nesting."

Peggy smiled. "When you put it like that, I can't say no now, can I?"

"I'm still only thinking of it. But I appreciate the agreement."

"The house has a lot of space. Some days you feel it more than others." Amanda watched her friend twist her rings absently. Peggy was a great fan of the traditional stiff upper lip, but Amanda had long learned her tells.

She reached out and tucked an arm through Peggy's. "Why stop at pets? Perhaps we should start taking in friends and urchins. That girl at the auto-mat, Angie? I like her, she makes you smile."

That got her a smile. "You want to open a boarding house now?"

"Well, when you put it _that_ way." She gave Peggy's arm a squeeze. "Our boys will be home someday."

"I think I've seen that on a poster somewhere. Or perhaps it was a song." She sighed. "I don't know if I want him here, or if I want to be there." 

The Commandos did seem to have more respect for her than her current coworkers. "Why don't you? You were rather useful on missions. I can keep the house alone. Fill it with cats."

She sighed. "The SSR is here. The boys are a unit of the US military now, and I am not. Their rules wouldn't let me fight in any case. . . But I also feel like maybe I've seen enough battlefields for one lifetime. Though if I was there, I might at least feel useful." 

They'd reached the subway station and descended to the platform. "Perhaps the men in your office just need time. To see you as you truly are, rather than what they assume you to be. You've not had a chance to shine."

"I would have to stop being a secretary for that." She sighed. "You know the other day the chief told me he didn't want me involved in anything with a long timeline, since everybody 'knows' I'll be pregnant within five minutes of Steve coming home."

Amanda shook her head. "Of course. You are obviously just biding your time till he can knock you up properly."

"It's been made very clear to me that my actual purpose in life is and will be to look pretty and have Captain America's babies."

"If it helps, you do the first rather well." Their train slid into the station and they paused their conversation to climb on with the crowd. "I'm sorry, Peggy. I have no advice for you. When I have run into men like that in my career I have solved it by being smarter than them until they are forced to admit defeat."

"I envy how well the scientists have taken to you."

She lifted a shoulder. "In my experience, scientists appreciate intelligence and will forgive a great many sins if you have enough of it. I can hold my own in their conversations, and I bring a great deal of knowledge to the table. So they are willing to overlook the unfortunate fact of my gender."

"And perhaps someday you'll save the world."

"Perhaps," she conceded, because it was true, in a certain manner of speaking. Not in the way Steve had, perhaps, but in her own way. "But, then, so might you someday."

She sighed a little. "A girl can dream, can't she?"

I do think that we can make it work, once we are together. I look forward to that. Figuring out what we are together without the war and distance between us.  


I worry about Peggy at times. She is unfulfilled at work, surrounded by men who are unable or unwilling to see her true potential and use her abilities. She still fights, because that is all she knows to do. But I can see it wears on her. I do what I can to ease that for her, to be a good friend and an ear to her frustrations. That is something we all have in common, isn't it? Fighting. The four of us had different battles, different motivations, but I think we have all fought for longer than we care to think of it.

Someday, I think, I will look back at these months as a form of limbo. A time where I was recovering from my past but not quite ready to step into the future. I keep waiting for something to happen to shove me into that next stage. But perhaps that's not how it works. I won't know it happened until I'm already there.

I apologize. I've gotten quite philosophical on you and I intend for these letters to be light and relaxing. The last thing I want if to add to your worries. It's late now and I'm avoiding my bed, but I think fatigue is winning. I will close this, so that I can mail it in the morning. I hope you and the others are well and as safe as you can be. You are in my thoughts always.

All my love,

Amanda  
  


**April 16, 1946**

Manda,

To tell you the truth, I like philosophical letters. I have plenty of time to sit around and think. I feel the limbo, too. Every day I get a little more tired of being over here. I do not have Steve's sense of duty, or whatever it is that is driving him to keep at this. If I were him, I'd want to go home. But I honestly think he has no idea what to do other than be Captain America, which he doesn't really want to be, once we get home. So we float here. Limbo.

On a more serious note: Yes, you are a Dodgers fan. You should tell Peggy, too. Rooting for the Yankees is grounds for divorce.

The weather is terrible here, so I am greatly enjoying your garden progress pictures. She'll never ask, but could you plant some anemones for my mother? They are her favorite flower, and she can't grow them well in a window box. 

I miss you. I miss the sound of your voice. I can't say I expected it to be like this. I used to think the guys who would talk constantly about their girls back home were wallowing. I thought keeping letters or pictures in your shirt over your heart (or in your compass, perhaps) were a little silly. But I do it now. You take what comfort you can get.

I hope you're enjoying your spring. I love you very much.

-James


	3. Chapter 3

**April 3, 1946**

Dear Peggy,

It's still snowing here. I think it must snow year round. It's got me thinking, how would you feel about moving to Key West? I hear the sunsets are lovely.

I got your letter about the water heater and the back stairs. I'm sorry about that, I really thought that boiler would last, and that we'd gotten all the rotten boards out. Know that I smacked Bucky on the back of the head for that. He informed me that he can't see through paint.

I'm sorry about the people at the SSR. None of them would have taken me seriously either, before the serum. There is part of me that wants to offer to do something. Send an angry letter, or something. Fly home and punch some people, even. But that wouldn't do much for people's perception you have a job as some sort of demented favor to me. 

That you don't need me to fight your battles doesn't mean I don't long to keep you safe.

Sketches of the local scenery included, as usual. Jones says thank you for the code-breaking. You are vastly faster and better at it than official channels.

I love you, I miss you, and sleeping alone is still terrible.

Love, Steve  


During the war, mail had come in fits and starts. Steve hadn't had a lot of people who wrote to him. Well, actually, a lot of people wrote to Captain America - everyone from little kids to old vets to women whose letters should really have been censored better. But the only people who actually wrote to Steve Rogers were Bucky's parents. Mail time on the front had been joyful, with men reading their letters to each other and trading pictures.

Now, with the way he and the Commandos moved around, mail was sporadic and in large batches. Waiting was hard, but it was fun wading through weeks of Peggy's life in one go.  


**April 11, 1946**

Darling,

Amanda and I have learned a great deal about all matters of home improvement and upkeep. She appears to have learned something from Howard as she managed to upgrade our electric from "fire hazard" to "charmingly rustic." We're hoping with some more practice we can move to "mostly reliable." I myself have become quite the plumber extraordinaire. I need only glare at the poor water heater and it doesn't even think about leaking again.

I do appreciate your urge to protect me. And I will confess, part of me would LOVE to see the looks on Dooley or Krezminski or even Thompson's faces if they got a nasty note from Captain America regarding their treatment of his wife. I would ask you to leave Daniel Sousa alone, though. He still tends to patronize but at least his heart is in the right place. Actually, you two might get along. He's never met a damsel he didn't want to save or a bully he didn't want to clock.

On a more serious note, I don't know how much news you're getting there, but it seems that Howard is in a spot of trouble. He's handling it in his usual way - as in NOT - but I do worry about him. It could get worse before it gets better. I will try to keep you updated as I know more.

We have hung some of your sketches up in the house and I smile when I see them, thinking I'm seeing something you saw. I've enclosed a few snaps of the garden and house. (And me, of course.) Amanda decided she wanted to document our progress and went out and spent half her pay check on a new camera. It does take lovely shots.

All my love,

Peggy  


The pictures were in a neat stack, various spots in the house and garden. Some were before and after pictures. They'd prioritized the kitchen and bathrooms as things to update before Steve went back overseas, but much of the decorating had still be left to Peggy. She and Amanda both had good taste. He could also see evidence of Mrs. Barnes's copious knitting appearing around the house.

All of the boys were distracted with their own mail piles, at least until Dugan noticed Steve had pictures and demanded they be passed around. 

Steve had the foresight to flip through the stack and pull out a couple of semi-saucy pictures of Peggy in shorts and a tied off shirt, digging in the garden, then let the boys pass around the rest. He dug out his notepad to answer her while they circulated.

**April 16, 1946**

Dear Peggy,

I don't know if you meant for those to look like pin-up pictures, but if I had a wall to pin them to, I would. I approve of your gardening outfit.

I have been following the news, though I'd assumed it was just press exaggeration. The idea Howard might be selling things to the Soviets is pretty laughable. I'm sure the whole thing is made worse by him not taking things like Senate inquiries seriously.  


"Rogers," Jones said from the other side of the fire. "How big is your damn house?"

He put his pen down and looked up. "I think, technically, it has seven bedrooms."

"How many kids are you planning to have?" Morita asked in horror.

"I can't say we've discussed that. But not seven, certainly. It's an old house, the rooms are tiny. Some walls are coming down."

"Amanda's threatening to swing the hammer herself," Bucky said from his spot. He waved his letters. "She's an electrician now."

"You're not going to recognize that house when you get back," Jones said.

He went back to his letter.

You two are going to leave me some part of the house to work on, right?

Morita seems to think we're going to fill the house with children. I know we've never discussed how many. I hope you don't actually want seven. I didn't like being an only child, but I didn't envy those in enormous families. Seems like it would be like living in the circus, big house or no.

It's one of those things I never used to think about. Thinking about it too hard was depressing, since I'd eventually get to wondering if I'd have a family at all. Now I have a wife and a house and apparently vegetables, and we're talking about this. Seems a little surreal.

I should turn in, and sent this letter while we've got mail access.

I love you so much,

Steve  


The next mail batch made it to them before they moved again, which made everyone's day. Sometimes Peggy's letters smelled faintly like her perfume. It was rare enough to be accidental, she wasn't spritzing the paper—that wasn't exactly her style. But it made him miss her that much more.

**April 20, 1946**

Darling Steve,

Of course there'll be plenty for you to do. We haven't even gone up to the fourth floor since we moved in. But if you expect me to live with minor floods and regular blackouts you don't know me very well.

Seven children does seem a bit excessive, especially as the one who will have to push them all out. I should think perhaps two or three would be a reasonable number? Enough to keep each other company but not so many as to outnumber us horribly. I think the fourth floor, once cleaned and freshened up, would make a nice play room for them all.

I confess, I never thought much about a marriage or children. I was too focused on my career, on proving myself. Then the war came and I thought there were better things to do than dream of a family. I agree that it is rather surreal. But it's a pleasant sort of surreal, and one I'm happy to indulge as long as possible.

Amanda wants to grow fruit trees or bushes of some sort. We have no idea what may grow or flourish here. Do you have any suggestions? Requests? It will be in our yard, we might as well like the bounty. Her carrots, in the mean time, are delightful.

Must dash, there is a Dodgers game on and Amanda is going to try to catch me up on who is who. The things I do for you, honestly.

I love you, my darling.

Peggy

*

**April 22, 1946**

Dearest James,

Thank you for clearing up the baseball confusion. With my firm and devoted love of the Dodgers the lab is even split between them and the Yankees. So I now have two fast friends and three sworn enemies. We listen to games as we work and the other white coats try to explain what I'm hearing. The names all run together for me, but they've been teaching me statistics, which helps me remember a bit better. I'll be an expert when you get back.

I'm growing rather fond of "my boys" in the lab. They are good men, mostly older than me, and very dedicated to the work. I can't wait to introduce you to them when you're home.

The anemones have been planted and your mother was quite tickled. She came over the other day to show me how to make meat loaf, which she insists is your favorite and I will need to know how to make for you. To be honest, I found it slightly disgusting, especially with all the ketchup. I may tweak a bit, now that I have the general idea. The roast she showed me last week was more my style and paired nicely with spatzel. Peggy says between me and Maureen we'll make her fat, but if it weren't for us she'd eat every meal at the automat so I just ignore her.

I regret to inform you we now have a cat. Well, a cat and five kittens, actually, but I plan to find homes for the kittens once they're weaned. I had been idly considering finding a pet, but hadn't looked into it, when I heard something getting into the milk bottles one evening. When I investigated, I found the poor mother trying to get the last of the cream stuck to the bottom of the bottle. She was starving and when I tried to coax her inside for a proper meal she lead me down the steps to the back alley and the little nest she'd made under a neighbor’s porch. I sacrificed a sewing basket and now they spend half their time by the fireplace and the rest on my bed. I confess I sleep better with them purring in my ear. Not as well as I did with you, but. . . better.

Enclosed are shots of your mother and I cooking - Peggy snuck them when your mother wasn't looking - as well as the new blooms, my carrot harvest and my pea plants. I've also added a few snaps of the cat and kittens - if you have any name ideas I would appreciate it, I've been calling her Katze and Peggy refuses to have a cat named "cat" no matter the language. There are also pictures of me that Peggy talked me into after too much wine. I hope whoever reads and censors these things had the decency to leave them in.

All my love,

Manda

PS. Peggy has a new, interesting assignment you might be interested in. Ask Steve about it, she's told him about it in code. Confidential, you know. Much love, AN  


Bucky thought that was worthy of actually getting up and going over to Steve's tent, where he was reading his own letters. "She tell you about the cats?" he asked from the doorway.

"Apparently they make. . ." He flipped over the letter he was reading and quoted, "'Adorable peeping noises'."

"What do you think the odds are of us coming home to six cats?"

"I fear the only question is how many will move out with you, and how many will stay behind."

"I suppose there are worse things." He came over and hunkered down on the end of Steve's bedroll. "She said something about Peg having a mission?"

"Indeed. It seems she's gone off the books. Stark showed up and asked for her help in getting to the bottom of whomever stole his missing tech." 

Bucky let out a low whistle. "Isn't that kind of like treason?"

Steve fiddled with the edge of the paper, folding and unfolding the corner. "What am I supposed to do? Tell her to stop?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. If you did, it'd just make her do it more." He looked over at Steve. "Not gonna help your worrying about her, though, huh?"

"I don't think even I could help her if she got caught."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, hell. Our girls against the SSR? The suits don't stand a chance."

"She didn't mention having roped Amanda in—though it sounds like she has."

"Her letter told me to ask you about it since you have your code with Peggy. We don't have any sort of secret way of writing so it was probably her way of telling me she was working on it, too." He shook his head with a sigh. "She's fond of Howard, to my chagrin. They bonded a bit when working on my arm. She'd want to help him."

"Espionage doesn't strike me as part of her skill set."

That was almost certainly true. Though he had no doubt Amanda could lie to the Pope with a straight face. "Peggy's been teaching her to fight," he offered. "And shoot, though she says she likes her scalpels better." Which he should not find attractive, but really sort of did.

Steve sighed. "You think I should stay out of it?"

"For now. Espionage isn't exactly your forte either. If she needs help, hopefully she'll ask."

He fiddled with his letters again. "I hope so. She says Stark tried to give her his butler to help her. Doesn’t sound like particularly functional tactical support if you ask me."

For a moment, Bucky hesitated, worried his next words were more selfish than not. He said it anyway. "You could go home. Even just for a break. See this thing with Howard through."

"There's still work to be done here. Besides, she'd be mad as hell if I just swooped down and seemed to take over." 

Which was the answer he'd expected. "Trust she can take care of herself. I know it's hard to let go, but she was going to end up on a mission sooner or later."

"I'd just hoped someone would have her back when she did."

*

"Forgive me, but wouldn't a simple running suture be more appropriate for such a long wound?"

Peggy couldn't see Amanda's face, bent over the wound in Peggy's leg as she was, but given the length and depth of Amanda's sigh she could easily imagine it.

"Running sutures can pucker," the doctor told Mr. Jarvis in a relatively neutral tome. "Especially in an area of high mobility such as the leg. Vertical mattress suture give a tighter close without puckering. And if taken out early enough avoids scarring."

"The precision required is strenuous though," the butler said peering at the wound.

"Hold the light steady, please," Amanda said. "I am very precise."

"But the cross hatching-"

"What medical school did you go to again, Mr. Jarvis?"

Peggy still felt a little dizzy. Blood loss, she supposed. "I am happy to trust Amanda's judgement on stitches. The woman has sewn up her own face."

"I used running locked for that, if you're curious," Amanda muttered.

Mr. Jarvis ignored the little jab. "I'm happy to hear you accept help from someone, on occasion."

She looked up at him, not missing the judgement in his tone. "I do give her a discount on the rent." In fact, Amanda didn't pay any rent. She and Steve didn't have a mortgage.

"Mr. Stark was very clear that I should help you in any way possible," Jarvis pressed. "You must let me. I am not without my skills."

He had been very helpful that evening. Even if he had ignored her instructions to simply drop her off. She hadn't expected to find a truck full of volatile explosives, of course. She'd been intending to conduct a simple interrogation, which wasn't something that usually required assistance.

Nothing lately was going as she expected. 

"The very moment I am in need of a soufflé, I promise, I will call you."

Amanda heaved a rather elaborate sigh and muttered something in German as she rummaged in her bag. After months of speaking constant English she had mostly stopped peppering her speech with words from her mother tongue. Peggy had given up trying to learn it, though she was rather curious what the other woman sang to the cats when she was feeding them.

Jarvis, on the other hand, seemed to catch her meaning. He gave Amanda a brisk nod and an approving, "Quite right," before turning back to Peggy. "Your line of work require support, people who care about your well being. Who'll be there to stitch up your wounds," he added with a gesture to Amanda, who had snipped her last stitch and was dusting the wound with antiseptic powder.

"And I am letting her," she replied. "But that doesn't mean I want to drag anyone else into this mess. Put anyone else in danger."

Jarvis didn't answer immediately, watching Amanda carefully tape a bandage to Peggy's leg. Finally he said, "There is not a man or woman, no matter how fit he or she may be, who is capable of carrying the entire world on their shoulders."

"Steve seems to be," she replied. And didn't she always worry about him because of that? Perhaps she should take some of her own advice. Though, this wasn't the same. This wasn't war. This was semi-treasonous espionage.

"That's not true," Amanda said, rocking back on her heels and snapping off the thin rubber gloves she'd worn to work on Peggy. Howard had invented those for her, after seeing the awful things she had to wear while performing surgery on Barnes. "Steve relied heavily on you. For strategy, moral guidance. As well as James and the other commandos. You were his support, all of you. Still are, I should think." She gathered up her dirty instruments and set the on a towel to wash later, then looked up at Peggy. "You cannot devote yourself to helping others if you do not allow others to help _you_."

She rubbed her eyes, feeling tired. "I can't have been that vital, he seems to be doing perfectly fine with an ocean between us."

Amanda tilted her head. "I don't think 'fine' is the right word. I think he is trying to find his purpose, because he thinks you've found yours. He is trying to be worthy of you."

Peggy lowered her hand and stared at her. "That's. . .I don't . . ." She shook her head. "Why would you think that?"

"James says he thinks Steve only knows how to be Captain America. In Europe he can be a hero. Clean up Hydra, lead the boys, be the man Erskine imagined he would be. If he comes here, what would he do? Sit in the house while you went to work? Go back to the stage, signing autographs and holding babies? Back here he's just Steve Rogers and you know he doesn't think Steve Rogers deserves you."

She didn't want to hear it, but it made a certain sense. "So that's why he stays?" she asked quietly, looking back down at her wound.

"I don't know if it's the only reason. He does have a general sense of duty and perhaps he simply feels he needs to see the job to the end. Psychiatry is not my specialty. But I think it plays a part." She gathered up her things and stood. "Let me put it this way. When James comes home I have a good idea of what will happen. We will date a bit, he'll propose and we'll be Mr. and Dr. Barnes. He wants to take over his father's contracting work. I hope to continue with SSR. Things will likely get complicated when babies come, but we'll work something out. I know what the future looks like and for the most part it's a normal life. Not so different than anyone else’s.

"When Steve comes back you will be Captain and Mrs. America. He will always be Captain America. He can't go get a normal job. There are no wars for him to fight here. So what does his future look like? What does he have to offer you, except fame neither of you ever wanted?" She held up a hand and Peggy's frown. "I'm speaking from his perspective. Perhaps he's running from these fears. Perhaps he's hoping in time an answer will present itself. Perhaps he simply wants to give you space to make your way in SSR without his shadow hovering over your shoulder. Do you think the men in your office would be sending you for coffee if there was a chance he'd come visit and see you being treated that way? How would it grate on you to know the only respect you had was because of the man waiting in the wings to glare on your behalf?"

There was an uncomfortable lump in her throat. "It would be worth it to have him here."

Amanda smiled softly. "Perhaps it's past time you told him so. There is no shame in asking your husband to come home."

She felt the weight of social and cultural expectation pressing against her. Sometimes she had no idea how she mustered the energy to keep fighting it. "So he can be a house husband? You don't think he'd eventually resent me?"

"There are options other than house husband," Jarvis offered. She'd all but forgotten he was here. "But I imagine he won't find them hiding in a war zone."

"The two of you need to decide what your future looks like," Amanda added. "Together."

"And in the mean time," Jarvis added, "You should let us help keep you alive so you can do that."

"Agreed." Amanda gestured with her tools. "I am always willing to patch you up. But I have other skills as well. And am not bad with a knife."


	4. Chapter 4

**April 28, 1946**

Dear Peggy,

I was surprised to get an entire letter in code. Lord knows what the people screening the mail must have thought about that. Captain America and his wife writing nonsensical letters to each other. But I'm glad you did. I like knowing what you're up to, even when it's top secret. Even if you did blow a small crater in New Jersey. I'm torn between being worried about you doing dangerous things, and proud of you doing dangerous things. You're probably smarter than most of the men in your office.

Considering the damage the one that got loose could do, I'm glad you found all of Stark's missing toys. I'm still considering punching him in the face for building and keeping all of those things. Bucky was trying to convince me it's his version of art, that he saves them the same way I save things that are so bad I wouldn't show anyone. Can't say I've ever thought of technology as art. Makes a certain amount of sense, though, doesn't it?

And yes, you are being stubborn. No one is a one man show. I'd be nowhere, or dead, without my team. That prison break I'm so famous for might have been brave, but it was stupid. I'd have never gotten out without the guys. I wish the SSR would just give you a functional team, but since they won't, you build one out of whomever you can find. Worked out the best for me, didn't it?

Stay safe. I miss you.

Love, Steve

*

The hardest part of spying, at least for Amanda, was keeping a straight face when things she knew were going to happen finally happened. For instance, the day after Peggy's little adventure at the marina she walked into the lab to find it in chaos. Crates and boxes were stacked on tables and rolling carts, blocking tables and towering precariously.

"What on Earth?" she asked, striving for an authentic note of confusion.

Doobin turned at the sound of her voice, grinning from ear to ear. "They found Stark's missing goods. Someone called it in last night. We get to catalog it all."

Well, Peggy would probably be relieved it was on the premises instead of some warehouse somewhere. She shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on the hooks lining one wall. "Well, then. Where shall I start?"

"They're all numbered, but with no other labeling system. Grab a box, describe its contents and number, and then we'll see if we can at least organize it before we start inspecting." He really did sound quite a bit like a little kid. Amanda knew they had no idea how dangerous Howard considered all these things—and she had to pretend she too didn't know. 

He'd told her about a few that fell into her wheelhouse, spectacular failures of the sort that had prompted her to lecture him about how you can't just wake up one day and decide you're a biochemist. He'd told her after Erskine died the government had turned to him as if all science types were interchangeable, and his ego had done the rest. His eyes had looked so haunted when he told her the results had been disastrous that she didn't press. Now she wished she had. Mechanical weapons you could take apart. Poison gas and who knew what else tended to kill you if you tried.

She searched her conscience a moment, then decided the safety of these people she considered colleagues if not friends was more important than being a good spy. "If I might suggest. . . if you come across anything that looks medical or chemical in nature, please call me over. That is my specialty and such things can be a bit. . . fussy."

Doobin tilted his head. "I did not know Stark made that sort of thing."

She waved a hand. "He dabbled in everything at one point or another. Fancied himself an honorary doctor once he made the arm for Sergeant Barnes. I may be giving him too much credit, but better safe than sorry, yes?" She gave him a wide smile. "Besides, if it's all bombs and machines I fear I'll be of no use to you at all."

One of the other scientists popped up from behind the crates. "Seventeen has a bunch of gas canisters in it."

Amanda gave a little "See?" gesture and Doobin smiled and held up his hands in surrender. "Put it aside for the Doc to check out later. Careful not to jostle it."

"Thank you," she said quietly and picked up a pad of paper and pen to start her inventory.

-And now my entire lab is covered in crates and boxes all labeled with Howard's name. The attitudes of the men are the funniest thing. Howard is supposed to be public enemy number one but my colleagues all act like they've been given a glimpse into Santa's workshop. And now that all seem to remember that I worked with him closely in the war and want to hear stories as we pry open boxes and try to make heads or tails of these things. I'm quite certain I'll have to treat someone for burns or shock or SOMETHING by the end of this endeavor. I swear, next time I see Howard I'm reintroducing him to my right jab.

Peggy told me this evening that one of the agents on her floor died while retrieving the equipment. Not from any of the devices, someone intercepted his car and shot him. She was. . . rather shaken. I never met the man, from her complaints about him he was an unpleasant fellow, one who treated her the worst. But he was a good agent and I think respected her, in his own way. Treated her as "one of the boys" as they say. I found myself grieving with her. Death is never easy, no matter who it comes for.

Her boss, Dooley, lays the blame at Howard's feet, saying the agent would not have been killed if not for him. Perhaps he's right. I had a teacher in medical school who liked to talk about all life being connected. It was a lecture meant to get us to respect the cadavers we practiced on. We are all on the same path and the difference between them and us is where the road ended. I don't think it's fair to blame Howard for his death, I think that's grief and anger speaking. But I do think Howard has a lot to answer for. He hides it behind the ridiculous mustache and the humor and womanizing, but I think he feels those deaths keenly. I fear the toll more might take on him.

On a brighter note, the cats are doing well. Two kittens have been re-homed and I have high hopes for two others. The anemones are blooming (picture attached) and your mother and I made a shepherd's pie that was to die for. I can't wait to make it for you when you return home. I actually have several things I can't wait to do when you return. Restaurants to go to, walks to take, shows to see, perhaps. (And, yes, that too.) I think of you often. Time and distance has not cooled my affection for you. When I miss you I tell myself it that the distance is good. That it has proven our love has a solid foundation that will see the test of time.

I do love you, with all my heart.

Manda  
  


**May 4, 1946**

Doc,

A lab full of mad scientists really should have someone on hand for medical assistance. Howard almost blew himself up once while dissecting a Hydra weapon. I'm not surprised they aren't so quick to turn on him. You've said yourself they accept you based on your skills. Perhaps they'll overlook a little questionable loyalty and gossip, if the science is bulletproof.

I think we all feel the deaths we're responsible for. Even enemy deaths. I don't like thinking of the squids or Nazis as people, but they are. So I don't doubt things weigh on Howard. He worked on the Bomb. But that's not an excuse to run away and hide and apparently leave the fallout for others to deal with.

You know, when my mother writes me now, the letters are mostly about you. If we didn't work out I think I would be disowned so she can keep you. Thankfully I agree that's not likely the case. I think we'll be just fine. If I ever get the hell out of eastern Europe, that is. I miss you. And I think every day I care less and less about why we're over here. The war is supposed to be over, isn't it?

I can't wait to see you again. Before we get to your list, I expect we'll lock ourselves in our room for a while. 

Love, James

*

"Cap! Hey Cap!" Morita's voice echoed across their camp until Steve poked his head out of his tent. 

"What?"

Morita hooked a thumb at the lean-to he and Jones had set up for their communications shed. "Call for you."

"Oh, please tell me it's our intel, I'm tired of sitting here." 

"Sounded like orders of some sort but they'd only talk to you. Hey, ask 'em if we can go to Greece? I'm dying for some lamb."

Steve rolled his eyes as he went into the comms tent. Hydra had had a factory in Greece during the war. After they'd taken it out, the team had eaten themselves into food comas on the local grub. Watching Peggy lick off her sticky fingers after eating baklava had been, perhaps, the highlight of his trip.

Not worth thinking about that now, stuck here in Poland. He picked up the headset. "This is Rogers."

"Hello, darling," came the warm, British, decidedly familiar voice. "How would you feel about invading Russia with me?"

He actually had to sit down, he was so surprised. "Peggy."

"Hello, darling," she said again, smile evident in her voice. "I'm sorry I don't have time to explain. Do you think you and the boys could meet me and some of my coworkers at the Russian-Polish border?"

"Honey, I would meet you on the moon. Yes. Absolutely. I'll call command here and make it happen."

"Thank you. I'll send some exact coordinates and mission details later. Right now I have to go humiliate Thompson in front of our boss."

"I love you," he replied, feeling himself grin.

"I love you, too, Steve. I'll see you very soon."

When he emerged from the tent, the whole lot of them were standing out there, grinning like idiots. "She wanted to surprise you," Morita piped up.

"She succeeded."

"Russia is nice this time of year," Jones said.

"Get packing," he told them sternly. At least as sternly as he could manage given his inability to stop smiling.

They bugged out with record speed, hopping a couple trucks to head out to the border. The coordinates and mission specs came through as they were leaving. Weapons exchange in Belarus. He knew just enough about what Peggy was doing to know this had something to do with Howard and probably Leviathan. Hopefully, he'd have time to talk to her about it before the shooting started.

He went through the specs while they drove to the rendezvous. "They seem to think we're just going to hike due east from Poland."

Bucky leaned over his shoulder. "That sounds like a great way to end up dead."

"Sounds like Peggy didn't plan it," Dugan said from the other side of the truck. 

"Well," Morita said, "We all assume there was a reason she called us, other than just she missed Rogers's—"

"Do not finish that sentence," Dugan said.

"You have no idea what word I was going to use," Morita replied, sounding like an offended society matron.

"Right, I'm sure it was going to be smile," Bucky drawled, to the laughter of the rest. He punched Steve in the arm. "You make fun of me but you're getting a government funded conjugal visit in the middle of Eastern Europe."

He almost argued. They did not generally do anything while in the field, due to cold and lack of privacy. But it had been enough months that even being naked in the snow sounded appealing.

"Pot, kettle, Barnes," Morita said, causing them both to look up and frown at him. "Oh, you haven't gotten to the section about the actual members of the SSR team yet. Page three."

Steve flipped to page three. "Thompson, Li, Ramirez, Rogers. . ." He stopped and stared at it. "Neuberg."

He looked at Bucky in time to see his jaw drop. "What the hell are they doing bringing her on a mission? She's supposed to sit in a lab and poke at things."

"It says 'medic and bio-weapons specialist' in the summary," Morita said helpfully.

"Can I go back to making fun of you now?" Steve asked.

"When we get home I'm taking her to the racetrack," he muttered, still staring at Amanda's name in the file.

Steve clapped his shoulder. He hadn't said anything, but he knew Bucky had been envious of Peggy's visit. She sure was fond of her surprises.

They reached the rendezvous point around dusk. It left them plenty of time to top off the gas tanks, hid the trucks, have a bite to eat, and take up positions in the trees in case any Reds were in the area.

A couple hours later, his ears picked up airplane engines a few miles away. The tree line was too thick to see anyone coming in, but he figured they were an hour or sos hike from their location.

"That's them," he called. "Keep an eye out."

Sure enough, just over an hour later he heard the crunch of boots in the brush. They were coming on Dugan's end and he started making his way over in time to hear the big man order, "Don't move. Emu."

Steve sighed and looked skyward as the SSR agent in the lead responded, "What?"

"It's ostrich, man," Falsworth hissed.

"Shut up, it's emu."

"Peggy, Dugan forgot the password again." Falsworth sounded like he was tattling to his mother.

Then he heard her voice. "It's eagle, you apes."

"I think I like emu better, " Bucky muttered from behind him, as they finally reached the group. 

Peggy looked up, and their eyes met and for a short moment he was so glad to see her he forgot how to breathe. He wanted to pick her up and spin her around and kiss her until everyone else vanished—but what was protocol for greeting ones wife in the middle of a covert op?

While he was contemplating that, Bucky elbowed past him, pushed one SSR agent out of the way and the other two wisely moved before he reached Amanda. And proceeded to dip her like this was the end of a romantic movie.

Dugan and Jones whistled and the male SSR agents all found somewhere else to look. Peggy used the distraction as an opportunity to step towards him and wrap her arms around him. "Hello, darling," she murmured.

He held her, and pressed his face into her neck, inhaling her scent and feeling a shudder pass through him. God, he'd missed her. Kissing her the way he wanted to would probably earn her scorn from the other agents. But he decided he was going to hug her as long as he damn well pleased.

Bucky appeared to have let Amanda go long enough for her to say hello to the other commandos and start introducing the SSR men. He listened with half an ear, still focused on Peggy. He did hear the doctor proclaim, "They made me jump out of a plane!" indignantly, which made him chuckle.

"She complained the whole plane ride," Peggy told him in a whisper. "I thought Thompson was going to shove her out early to be done with it."

"I don't know why you brought her, but I think you made his year."

"She's been working in the lab sorting through Howard's things. If there is a weapon being traded she'll be able to help contain it if it's dangerous." Peggy smiled and shrugged. "She cooks dinner for me every night, she deserves to see her boyfriend. Even if it is on a covert op in Russia."

Steve had to let her go, so he could be introduced to Peggy's colleagues. She didn't need him to fight her battles, so he greeted the men politely. The younger ones seemed somewhat starstruck with Captain America. Thompson was the one whose name he knew, and he squeezed the man's hand with about twice as much force as he needed. Enough he knew it hurt. "Good to put a face to the name," he said evenly, staring the other man down.

He saw a little flicker of awareness in his eyes at the comment, but otherwise he didn't react. "Thanks for your help on this, Captain."

"Happy to be of help."

Thompson nodded. "We'll head due east until we hit the border."

He said it with such confidence that Steve knew he was the source of the plan they'd been looking at on the drive. Already the man grated on him, the least he could do is have some tactical competence. Steve sighed. "You fought in the pacific, didn't you?" 

He hesitated like it might be a trick question. "Yes, sir. Two tours."

It was really petty that the 'sir' pleased him. "We'll hit a wall of reds if we go east. Bet she told you that." He didn't let Thompson answer. "We'll head up into Lithuania, cross over at Ashmayani."

"You planning on walking halfway across Lithuania?" Thompson asked, in a tone of voice that grated Steve's nerves.

He paused for a beat before saying, "Well. You can." He turned and looked at his wife. "You guys ready to roll?"

She glanced at Thompson, then the other men. "At your leisure, Captain," she said finally, turning back to him with a very grateful smile.

He nodded to the Commandos and they headed over to the clearing they'd parked the trucks in. He noticed Bucky kept a hand on his rifle and the other slung around Amanda's shoulders. She didn't have quite as much to prove as Peggy did, he supposed.

She did sit next to him on the long truck ride, though. He wanted to touch her so badly it was almost an actual pain. As the others dozed in the dark, he found her hand and laced their fingers together.

Her sigh was audible and she leaned into him, so that her arm and side pressed into his. It wasn't as much as he wanted. But it was something.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Olives had some babyaggro this week. I'll be pinch hitting until we run into more formatting. -Nyx
> 
> This chapter deals with events in the Marvel's Agent Carter episode The Iron Ceiling (ep0105). You may be a little confused if you haven't watched it. And if you haven't, dude, seriously, go watch Agent Carter. I'll wait.

They stopped for camp at the border, figuring everyone needed a good night's sleep before the assault. Steve avoided Thompson as much as possible, talking to Peggy like she was point person, which, by all accounts, she should have been. The others took their cue from him, to the point he wasn't sure the other SSR men remembered who was supposed to be in charge.

Somehow it just became obvious that Thompson and one of his guys should take the night watch. Maybe it helped the man feel important, but the truth was Steve needed _his_ team well rested. He and Bucky could both handle sleep deprivation much better, but he wasn't going to volunteer that information. They both had better things to do with their evening. 

The boys told campfire stories. Thompson apparently had a Navy Cross. Steve was proud of the fact that he refrained from pointing out he had four Distinguished Service Crosses and two Medals of Honor. He was entirely too busy making eyes with Peggy over the fire.

When she'd finished her can of rations she made a show of stretching and saying goodnight to everyone in the circle. "I will see you all bright and early," she added, heading for her tent with another little glance Steve's way.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "I got married so I didn't have to be subtle." He stood up. "Commentary will cost you teeth," he said to the general crowd, just to nip it in the bud. "Good night, all."

There was a chorus of good nights and a couple of whistles, which he decided didn't count as commentary. Peggy met him on the way to the tents and tucked her arm through his. "I respect your desire for professional boundaries," he said. "But I am not sleeping in a separate tent."

"I didn't expect you to," she informed him. "But you tend to turn an amazing shade of red when anyone implies you might be having sex."

He chuckled. "Honestly, honey, right now I don't care if they _watch_."

She laughed brightly. "Well, I draw the line at that."

He lifted up the flap of her field tent. They were tiny, not meant for more than one person, but he hadn't even bothered setting up his own. Inside he saw she'd zipped two sleeping bags together. He gestured for her to crawl in ahead of him, then he followed and zipped the tent closed.

When he turned back she had one boot off and was working on the next. "I have been looking forward to this since I first decoded that message."

He had to take a slow breath, and then he took off his own boots. "Cold as it is, we probably shouldn't take off too much clothing," he said quietly. "Much as I long to."

"You have a point. Still, I imagine we can make it work."

"We can make anything work." And, actually, tac gear was too full of pockets and clips and sharp edges to sleep in when sharing a sleeping bag with someone else. They ended up thermals—they'd keep each other warm enough anyway. She was already starting to shiver, so he unzipped one side. "Come on, get in."

She did so, slipping inside then holding it open for him. She curled an arm around his neck, drawing him down for a kiss. "Hello, darling," she whispered. He didn't say anything, he just kissed her, letting months of longing and loneliness pour into it. It felt like the first time, all over again.

He felt her shudder and she moaned softly into his mouth, arching against him. Their legs tangled together and she rocked against his thigh. He wanted to be naked, to feel her skin pressed against his. He had to settle for sliding his hands underneath her shirt, running his fingers up along the bumps of her spine.

She felt the same, soft and warm, with strong muscle beneath. She pressed herself into his touch, humming in pleasure. He unhooked the back of her bra. He couldn't really take it off, but he could get it loose enough he could get his hand beneath to cup one breast. He gave himself a moment just to enjoy the warm familiar weight.

Her nipple peaked against his palm and she sighed. "Oh, I've missed you."

"I've missed you," he replied. "Every part of you."

One of her hands had snaked its way under his shirt and was stroking his back. "Two in particular?"

"I don't think I can narrow it down like that." He let go of her breast and moved his hand down into the back of her bottom thermals, giving her rear a squeeze. "I like this one, too."

She gave a little squeak and giggled, drawing him down for a kiss. "I don't think I could narrow mine down to favorites, either," she murmured, hands exploring his back and shoulders, making his shirt ruck up. 

He stroked his hand around her hip, flattening it on her thigh for a moment. "I like this one, too. And this one." He brought his hand to the front and slid it between her legs. She jerked at the touch, but he could feel she was already wet. Whispering his name, she rocked against him, pressing herself more firmly into his hand. He eased two fingers inside her, and it made her groan. Gently he kissed her neck as he stroked her. "I missed this," he whispered.

"Oh, God," she moaned. "Darling, so have I." She wrapped her arms around him, widening her legs and arching up to drive his fingers deeper.

"Shh." He rubbed her with the heel of his hand and felt her shudder. "We have to be quiet."

Her teeth dug into her lower lip and she nodded, bucking a little. "I know," she whispered. "I'll try."

He kissed her then, letting her moan into his mouth and muffling the sound. He loved her noises, too. The ground beneath the sleeping bag was cold, leeching through the tent floor and the pad beneath them. She'd freeze if he took her thermals off, but somehow he didn't think just groping each other was going to fit the bill tonight. He could feel her shake, and knew she was close, but not quite. So he slowed his touch, kissed her mouth and whispered, "Turn around."

She whimpered, though whether it was because he'd slowed or from his words he didn't know. After kissing him hotly once more she obeyed, rolling over awkwardly in the confines of the sleeping bags. She nestled her body back against his and he groaned. Then he reached down to ease her thermals over her hips. He heard her sigh as she realized his intent and she wiggled a little to help him get the fabric down, settling herself closer to him. He got his out of the way and coaxed her to arch her back a little more so he could slide inside her.

She made a noise that had to be clearly audible outside.

He didn't bother to shush her again, what was done was done. She bent her knee, opening herself wider, and be began to thrust. It was tight, the friction intense. Peggy made another quiet, desperate noise before stuffing a corner of the sleeping bag in her mouth to muffle it.

He cupped her breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers, making her jerk against him. He let his hand drift down over her stomach until he could stroke her, finding that particular spot with the tips of his fingers and pressing in small circles.

It didn't take long for her to start rocking against him, body growing hot around him. She reached back, gripping at his hip, nails sinking into his skin. Then she started to shake, letting out a wail that was mostly muffled by the sleeping bag. She squeezed around him, overwhelming in its intensity, so he let go and let her pull him with her. He pressed his face into her shoulder so he wouldn't make any noise himself.

Peggy shuddered a long time, tugging the fabric out of her mouth so she could breathe. As she calmed she stroked his hip and side affectionately. He kept his face hidden in her shoulder, filling his lungs with her scent. When he said, "I miss you," he was surprised at how choked his voice sounded.

She gave him a gentle squeeze. "I miss you, too, darling," she replied and he was relieved and pained at the fact her voice was choked as well. His arms tightened and he just held her. He didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to be away from her anymore.

*

The building looked very severe and industrial in the thin dawn light. Bucky studied it through his scope while the others passed a couple pairs of binocs back and forth. No guards in sight, but there was smoke rising from one of the chimneys, so someone was home. The whole damn thing smelled like a trap, and an elaborate one at that. He didn't feel great about going in with a bunch of newbies. Navy cross or no.

He glanced down at Amanda, bundled in tac gear, a thick wool cap over her hair. She was triple checking her gun and gear. "You okay to do this?" he asked her.

She glanced up at him, closing the flap of her medical bag. "I'm fine. I broke out of a Hydra facility once, you know." She sounded so different now, accent all but gone. He understood why she'd put effort into losing it, but he kind of missed it.

He grinned at her. "Got your scalpel?"

With a pat to her bag, she said, "I do, in fact." She stepped closer to lean on him briefly. "I'll be fine, James. Don't get distracted."

"You'll worry about me, too," he told her.

"I always worry about you," she replied quietly, holding his gaze.

"You got a better idea? Let's hear it."

The SSR guy's voice was just irritated enough Bucky felt it was a good idea to start paying attention.

Peggy lifted a shoulder. "Five teams of two is faster. Two teams of five is safer. Discretion seems to be the order of the day. We don't know what we're walking into."

Bucky could see the logic of that grated on Thompson. He braced himself for a pissing contest, saw Steve do the same, but to his surprise the agent just nodded and divvied up the teams into two groups of five. He found himself with Dugan, Carter, Falsworth and Li. Much as he might have liked to be with Amanda he knew Steve and Jones would watch out for her.

He hated invading empty buildings. The tension level was much higher than when you went in shooting. You just moved slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Said shoe came a few rooms in, after Peggy found the subliminal message on the movie reel. They followed the sound of a child crying to a dorm room lined with children's beds, all sporting a set of handcuffs. When Li expressed a hint of concern at said accessory Dugan muttered, "It's Russia, man," before spotting the girl crying in the corner.

"Just when I thought the unsettlingly creepy factor could not rise," Bucky muttered.

He was scanning the room entrances while Dugan talked to the girl, so he missed the knife she pulled out and stabbed the big man with. He turned in time to see her grab Dugan's gun and maneuver like a trained soldier. She got a bead on Falsworth and Bucky fired first, trying not to think about the fact she looked about twelve.

His shot missed, but it threw her off enough to throw her own shot wide, grazing Fals rather than killing him. Then Peggy knocked the gun from the girl's hand and she went scurrying for a hole in the wall, pigtails dancing.

Dugan tossed the knife out of his chest like it was annoying and headed for the hole in the wall with a grenade, an idea Bucky heartily approved up, but Peggy stopped him.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked, just as the other team crashed through the opposite doors.

"What happened?" Thompson asked.

Almost in unison, Amanda said, "Who's hurt?"

"Falsworth is shot, Dugan got stabbed," Bucky told her.

Dugan waved her off. "The vest took the brunt of it."

"There's a good chance Leviathan has been alerted to our presence," Peggy said in a tight, clipped tone. "We need to move quickly," she added, aiming it at Amanda, who was inspecting Falsworth's arm.

"I'll having him bandaged in a minute," she said, digging in her bag.

"How many were there?" Steve asked.

Bucky exchanged looks with the rest of his team, then admitted, "One."

"Little girl," added Li.

"But she was a fucking scary little girl," Dugan finished.

Amanda had finished Falsworth and moved on to Dugan, and the moment just stuffing gauze under his vest to stem the bleeding. "Impeccable aim. Without the vest, you'd be dead." She tapped the front of his shirt, where the blood stain was. "Left ventricle, right here."

"There's got to be a back way out of here," he replied.

"We can't leave until we find out who's been setting Howard up," Peggy said. She took a breath and faced the rest of the group. "Dugan, Ramirez, Falsworth, find a back way out of here. The rest of you come with me."

As he stepped into line with the others, Bucky found it amusing that Peggy was now apparently officially in charge. Thompson hadn't even made a peep.

They pressed on the way they'd been heading, and eventually found an area with jail cells. "I swear," Amanda muttered from behind him. "There is an Enigmatic Evil Organization checklist and somewhere near the top is 'Build a Dungeon'."

Peggy and Steve were talking to two men found in one of the cells, who were being held there to build a weapon for Leviathan. Bucky looked back over his shoulder at Amanda. "And right under that on the checklist is 'Kidnap Some Scientists'."

"Hey, Doc?" Steve called. "Come look at these schematics."

She slid past Bucky to join Steve and Peggy at the cell. She peered at the blue prints a moment, the looked up at the psychiatrist who had been talking. Her mouth had been open to ask a question, but when she got a good look at him, it snapped shut and her shoulders tightened, changing her posture. If Bucky hadn't known her as well as he did he wouldn't have noticed the shift. As it was, it was enough to put him on edge.

"Doc?" Steve asked quietly.

"It's a weapon, but not any of the ones we have in the labs at home," she said. "Physics isn't my strength but his description appears to be accurate."

"I thought it was supposed to be a chemical weapon," Thompson said. "That's why we brought her."

"The message was vague," Peggy said. "It was better safe than sorry. And as there is no weapon to speak of, I think it's a rather moot point."

"Incoming!" Jones called from the end of the hallway.

Peggy blasted the prisoners out of the cell and they took off running, armed guards following them. They ended up pinned in a large room, in the middle of a firefight.

Bucky positioned himself behind some crates, taking his shots slow and careful as the others emptied their assault rifles at them. Amanda was next to him, he'd practically dragged her over with him. Thompson was on his other side, but appeared to have frozen up. 

Shots came from his left, taking out Li. Amanda and Jones returned fire and Bucky saw the girl from earlier ducking away into some other damn hidey-hole. He barely had enough time to process that when the crazy scientist grabbed a gun and Jones and started trying to negotiate.

He was able to pick off a couple of Russians in the resulting shouting match. Peggy, Steve and the shrink were trying to reason with him. He could tell Steve about to do something stupid when Amanda pulled something out of her bag, stepped behind him and reached far enough out of cover to jam her scalpel into the crazy man's neck. He gave a very unpleasant gurgle and stumbled away, releasing Jones before falling to the ground.

Peggy was on the radio yelling at Dugan about their exit. Bucky helped Amanda pull Jones back behind the crates so she could put a tourniquet on his bleeding thigh, since it looked uncomfortably close to his femoral artery. 

"You know, they gave you a gun, you're allowed to use it," Jones told her as she worked on him.

"I don't like guns," she replied. "So imprecise. What if I'd hit you?"

Jones glanced up at Bucky and his rifle. "You two are a pair, all right."

"Dugan I'm about to get very cross with you," Peggy shouted into her radio an instant before the exterior was exploded.

Dugan stepped inside, racking his gun. "Wa-hoo!"

"Stop wahooing and help!" Peggy snapped.

With the extra fire power they were able to evacuate Jones and the Russian psychiatrist. Thompson still hadn't moved, despite Peggy yelling at him.

"Amanda, can do something about him?" she asked finally. "Use your scalpel if you must."

She crouched in front of the man and snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. "Get up or I will have Steve carry you out," she said. Her accent had come back, probably from stress. "I'm sure Peggy and Martinez will enjoy telling the story in the bullpen."

"I'm up. I'm up," he said, finally moving away from his cover. 

Everyone sprinted for the truck, and it was as Bucky was heaving Amanda up into the back that he realized Steve and Peggy were both still back inside shooting. Bucky cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Come on!"

"Neither of them is going to go first," Dugan commented as he climbed up.

"Right," Bucky said. "Like Romeo and Juliet." He swung his rifle back up and crouched down so he could see through the hole in the wall. He picked off the three Leviathan shooters in the hallway, who'd brazenly come out from cover now that they thought most of their opponents were gone. "I will shoot one of you next!" he shouted.

Peggy shoved Steve and he grabbed her arms and somehow they managed to rescue each other out of the goddamned building. Bucky hauled himself up into the truck and joined the boys helping cover the Rogers's escape.

They dragged the both of them up into the truck as it peeled away. They sprawled on the floor of the truck and after a moment Steve lifted his shield up over their heads, probably because he'd decided he wanted to kiss her, and not put on a show. Morita whistled anyway.

Bucky chuckled and closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the truck wall. Then he felt Amanda wrap herself around his arm and bury her face in his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "You okay?"

She shook her head a little and cuddled closer, lifting his arm up and over her shoulders. He tugged her up into his lap, so he could wrap his live arm around her, too. Steve and Peggy were kissing on the floor of the truck, he could hold her with both arms. "I've gotcha," he whispered. "It's over."

After a moment, she said. "I'm glad I'm not going to die in Russia. My family might not speak to me in the afterlife."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "You didn't have to come. I know you did for me."

She sighed and lifted her head. "Well, I did not jump out of a plane for the experience."

"I love you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do."

"I'm sorry," he said again, because he wasn't sure what else to say. 

"Oh, James, it's all right." She rubbed a hand over her face. "It's been a strange few days."

His arms tightened. "I don't doubt that. We'll get you home soon, I promise."

She nodded and leaned her head down on his shoulder again.


	6. Chapter 6

They stopped just over the border in Lithuania, because Amanda didn't want to stitch wounds on a moving truck. She seemed a little rattled to Peggy, but her hands were steady as ever. Then they got back in the truck and drove until nightfall before making camp. They had another half-day until their extraction coordinates. The men grumbled, but she was grateful for one more night.

Amanda and Barnes disappeared into their tent almost embarrassingly early. Peggy had to wait a bit longer as Steve had taken the dinner time rotation for watch. When he returned he wolfed down his rations as she went to go get ready. The fact that this was their last night together for God knew how long weighed on her and she unlaced her boots and zipped the sleeping bags together. He climbed into the tent a little bit later, crowding the scant space—though he had a tendency to fill up whatever room he was in, regardless of the size. "To think we complained about the storage closet," he commented.

She laughed, oddly warmed at the memory. "This doesn't even have walls to pin me against."

Steve looked down at his boots, slowly unlacing them. "I wish you could stay."

"I wish you would come home," she said and immediately closed her eyes. The words had slipped out without her intent. She had planned not to open the topic at all. But now it was out.

"I can't," he said quietly. "You know I can't."

She should leave it there. She knew what his duty meant to him. But dammit, she was his wife. And she was tired of missing him. "The war is supposed to be over."

"Turns out it's not the sort of thing that has an off switch."

"How long do you plan on staying?" she asked softly. "I love you. I'm proud of what you do. But I miss you. I need my husband. I need. . . some sort of light at the end of the tunnel."

"I don't know," he said. "I wish I did. I don't like being apart any more than you do. But there's important work still to be done."

"And you're the only one who can do it?"

He looked over at her. "I can't think of anyone better. Or even equal." He took off his other boot. "This is what I was made for. _Literally_."

She thought about her conversation with Amanda and Jarvis, then asked quietly, "Are you afraid it's _all_ you can do?"

"It is all I can do," he said, and she was surprised at how matter-of-fact he was about it. "At least, that's actually useful. Guess I could go back to be a chorus girl. But then, nobody needs to buy bonds anymore, and Hitler's dead."

"Steve. . . You are more than this. More than just a weapon. You could come home. Draw, work on the house. Write your memoirs. Work for the SSR at home. There are options."

"If I came to work at your office I think I'd end up punching someone. And everything else is just a hobby."

That first part was almost certainly true, considering how often she longed to punch someone. "I don't understand, Steve. Do you plan on never coming home?"

"Of course not," he said. "I just. . . I feel useful here. Like I have a purpose. Back home, I'm just. . ." he shook his head. "I have no idea. Before the serum at least I knew who I was."

She rubbed her forehead. "I understand," she said quietly. "About wanting to feel useful. I do. But you'll never know who you are back home unless you come back home. You will need to face that someday."

"I know," he said. "I know. I'm sorry." He sighed. "Besides, if I came home, wouldn't I be in your way?"

"What do you mean, in my way?"

"I know you're fighting to get the New York office to take you seriously. Me hovering in the background reminding everyone you're Mrs. Captain America would not help that."

When they got back to New York she was going to buy Amanda a root beer float for her perceptiveness. She reached out and touched Steve's hand. "I would rather have you home and fetch coffee for those idiots the rest of my life than be chief and be separated."

He turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. "I can't ask that of you."

"You aren't asking, I'm giving. That's what marriage is, you know. Give and take."

Steve smiled a little. "I'm still not any good with girls."

She laughed and squeezed his hand. "I think you're learning."

"I think you're brilliant," he said. "Smarter than I am, certainly, even with the serum. I don't want that to be wasted just because you married me."

The man certainly knew how to diffuse an argument. "Thank you for that, darling. But be that as it may, I'm better with you. Surely we'll find a way you can support me without overshadowing."

"It's intimidating," he said. "Feels like starting over." She knew that was hard for him to say. She was fairly certain there wasn't anyone else alive he would admit to having fears to.

She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. "I know. Just. . . think about it? I don't want to waste the honeymoon years of our marriage on different continents."

He turned his head to kiss her palm. "I will. I promise."

"Good. Thank you." She slid the hand behind his head and drew him close for a kiss. "Now. Speaking of not wasting time."

*

Amanda wasn't entirely sure what country they'd ended up in. It wasn't Russia or Austria and they were still a plane ride from the US, and they were only staying overnight until they could get to the extraction point. So in the end it probably didn't matter.

The campfire this time was far less boisterous. Thompson was dealing with whatever had shook him. Li was dead, Jones and Falsworth were both wounded. And the impending departure seemed to hang over the heads of both couples like a pall.

Steve and Peggy had gone to bed early the night before, and it didn't sound like a half-bad idea tonight. James was hanging his metal arm over the fire to warm it up, since it had gotten icy-cold last night. She caught his eye, and he raised an eyebrow. She gave him a little nod and stood, stretching and brushing her pants off. There was a mumbled chorus of goodnights as she headed towards her tent.

He was there a minute later. Well. It wasn't as if they were a secret. She had already shed her boots and vest, so when he wrapped his arms around her she could feel the heat of his hands through the fabric of her shirt. He turned her face up and kissed her, and she didn't miss the tint of desperation to it. Tomorrow they would part again.

She tried not to think of it. Not now. She had plenty of time to miss him when they were actually apart. For now, she wanted to focus on the things she couldn't have without him. She tangled her hands in his hair and kissed him deeply, laying back on her sleeping bag and tugging him with her. He stretched out on top of her, surrounding her, making her feel like they were the only two people in the world. It took him a moment to lift his head and murmur, "We should get inside the sleeping bag.

She didn't really want to stop the kissing, but he did have a point. They helped each other shed the worst of their gear, getting down to their thermals, then tucked themselves into the sleeping bag together. To her delight, it only increased the feeling of them being alone in the world. There wasn't a part of her that wasn't touching him in some way. She loved the feeling of being overwhelmed by him. 

He braced himself up on the metal arm, so he could touch her with the other, everywhere he could reach. Last night they'd been so desperate for each other they'd practically torn clothing. No exploring, no teasing, just raw, naked need. Now he was touching her slowly, carefully, like they had all night. Maybe they did, there was no mission tomorrow.

It was almost too much sensation, all at once. After months of having nothing, now her whole body felt alive and over sensitive to his touch. She did her best to stifle her moans as heat started to build inside her. Her nipples tightened against the fabric of her thermals and he paused to stroke them through the shirt.

She pressed her mouth against his arm to smother a little cry and found herself laughing. "Brace yourself. You asked me if you'd be able to brace yourself on it."

He blinked up at her. "What?"

Shaking her head, she tried to explain, "When we first attached the arm, you asked me questions about bracing yourself on it. You claimed it was for shooting but I just realized. . ." She stretched up and kissed him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distract you."

He grinned. "Yeah. I was thinking about this. I recall you telling me I'd be able to shoot all night."

She laughed again, reaching up to stroke his jaw. "Little did I know how right I was." She braced an elbow beneath her and stretched up, kissing his mouth, his jaw, then down his throat. "I miss you," she whispered into his skin. She felt a little shudder pass through him, and the kiss intensified. He pushed her shirt up so he could touch her breasts with his bare hand. The warm skin mixed with the cold air shot right through her.

Reminding herself to be quiet, she pressed her mouth more firmly into his, muffling her moan. Her hands ran down his back, mapping him through the thin fabric of his thermals. When she reached his ass she cupped it with both fans, pressing the hard weight of him more firmly against her. There was a bit of the previous night's desperation still pumping through her. It had been a day of violence and fear and she needed to remind herself that they were alive and together.

She'd gotten very cold last night, though she hadn't noticed until it was over. This time he stopped and shifted them so his back was on the ground and she was on top of him. She lifted her head and watched him touch his cheek with the metal arm and sigh. "Yeah, it's cold again. Outdoor sex should not be on our agenda."

"I have a very nice room at Peggy and Steve's," she told him. "There's even a fireplace." She kissed his mouth, reaching down to tug her pants down. It required a bit of wiggling and he groaned. "Sorry."

"You can writhe on me like that all day long," he replied. "Keep one leg on, you'll stay warmer."

Taking his advice, she wiggled only her right foot out of the fabric, leaving the long johns covering the left. His only needed to be tugged down a few inches before freeing his erection. Sitting up would make it easier, but let in far too much cold air. So she pressed close to him, breast to chest, and wiggled up his body until the head of his shaft was properly aligned with her sex. She watched his face as she slid down his length. 

He groaned, and his eyelids fluttered. It felt powerful, what she could do to him. "Amanda," he whispered.

"I love you," she told him, touching his cheek with light finger tips. Then she braced her hands next to his shoulders and started to move. It was slow and shallow, her movement was limited and she wasn't strong. It was intense and oddly intimate. 

He looked up and met her eyes, not looking away. He was here and he was hers and they were all right.

Pleasure built faster than she'd expected, likely due to the friction caused by their close position. She lost track of her language, mumbling to him in German now. Her rhythm faltered, grew rougher, and she felt his hand on her rear, helping her.

Her climax came in one huge rush, drowning her. She pressed close to him, burying him as deeply as she could and grinding her clit lightly against him to draw out the orgasm. His fingers dug into her skin to hold her still as he shuddered and followed her. She felt the heat of it spread inside her.

She buried her face in his shoulder, sliding her arms under him to hold him close. 

"I love you," he whispered into her hair. "I don't think that's ever going to change."

Amanda closed her eyes, sighing softly at his words. "I feel the same."

"Shit," he said after a moment. "I need pants."

Confused, she lifted her head to look at him. "Why? I thought we were sleeping?"

"We are. Steve just made me promise that I would be wearing pants when I asked you to marry me." He winced and closed his eyes. "Shit."

She stared at him a moment, pushing up a little higher to stare at him. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

He sighed. "And clearly already screwing it up. It's been a rough day.

"I- yes, yes it has." She bent and rested her forehead on his. "Do you want to start over? I promise not to tell Steve you weren't wearing pants."

He stroked her cheek. "I suppose there is something to be said for being like this." He moved his head so he could kiss her. "I want you to be the last person I see at night and the first person I see in the morning. I want to have babies and build a life. I want to grow old together and find your eyeglasses when you've misplaced them. This isn't about stress or excitement. I want to come home and us to have a long, boring life together. But I do want us to have it together." He touched the bottom edge of her scar. "What do you think?"

She swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat. "I think that sounds perfect," she whispered. "I want all that, too. I would love to be your wife."

He grinned. "Good. I don't have a ring, but I'll get one."

"I don't mind. The question is enough."

"I want a real wedding," he said. "Church and everything. Family and friends. An uncomfortable monkey suit and dry wedding cake."

"I'm sure your mother will enjoy helping me plan." She felt a sharp pang of grief at the sudden realization that her own mother wouldn't be there to help her embroider her gown or chose the cake flavors. It was good she and Maureen Barnes got along so well.

He seemed to sense her train of thought. "I think she loves you as much as I do, you know."

"I love her very much," she assured him. "It's just. .. bittersweet."

"I know. It's going to hurt no matter what. When we get married, when our children are born. You're always going to miss them. I wish I could take it away, but I can't. The best I can do it try to make you happy the rest of the time."

Oh, she loved him. It was an ache in her chest. The thought of leaving him again, of the empty bed back in Brooklyn with nothing but letters to connect them made tears prick the back of her eyes.

She pressed her face into his shoulder. "You do a good job."

"This will be over soon," he said. "I promise."

"I hope so. I'm tired of limbo."

He sighed heavily. "I want to go home and start our life. I'm tired of fighting."

She wanted to ask him to come home. To live in her little room with her and help plan the wedding. But she knew he'd never leave Steve. She respected that, the bond they had. She didn't want to come between that. But it left her with nothing she could say to him.

So she pressed a little kiss into his skin and carefully shifted off of him. "It can't last forever."


	7. Chapter 7

In the morning, they got back on the road, and met the plane taking the SSR team home mid-afternoon. Goodbyes were hard. Steve found it even more so than leaving her in New York had been. He volunteered to take a turn driving the truck, just for something to do.

He was surprised when Bucky climbed up in the cab as well. "I hope you don't expect lively conversation," Steve said.

"Oh, I think it might get pretty lively," his friend said. He was glaring out the windscreen, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "I asked 'Manda to marry me."

Not sure what to make of his friend's mood, he asked, ''Did she say no?"

"No, she said yes. Going home to tell Ma and start planning. Problem is, I don't know when to tell her to plan for."

"Whenever you want. We'll work around it."

He sighed. "When I go to marry her, I ain't coming back."

Steve glanced over at him. "I think desertion's still illegal, Buck."

"Hey, I finished my tour a while ago. I've got one arm. I can go home whenever I want." He looked over and met Steve's gaze. "I'm here 'cause you're here. Question is, why the fuck are you still here?"

He looked away, out at the road in front of him. "You, too, now?"

"Peggy had a chat with you?"

"Yeah," he replied. "She would also like me to come home."

"So that's both people you're closest to telling you to do it." Bucky paused, then asked, quieter, "Why aren't you listening?"

"Because there's still work to be done." Peggy had made him feel guilty, which was probably making him feel angrier at Bucky than he should be.

"Work that other guys can do. Schmidt is dead, Steve. Zola's in a cell somewhere. We haven't come across a piece of cube-tech in months. The stuff we're doing. . . any grunt with a rifle and two brain cells could do it." He shook his head. "Whatever you set out to prove, you've proven it. You won the war. Go home and enjoy the world you saved."

"Jesus, I am not trying to prove anything."

"Bullshit. You've had something to prove since you were five years old and growing a foot and adding a bunch of muscle didn't stop that, it just changed the motivation. Maybe you think you owe it to Erskine, or the county, or the little skinny kid you used to be. I don't know. But you gave them your time. You almost gave them your life. Why do they get more?"

He sighed. "I was made for this very particular purpose. It's all I know how to do."

Bucky took a deep breath in through his nose and his voice was tight when he spoke. "You did not stop being Steve Rogers when you became Captain America. This is not all you are."

Peggy had said much the same, though she's sounded more sympathetic than pissed. But then, she tended to see his better angels. Bucky tended to call him on things. Still, it was something that touched a nerve, tapped into fears he didn't like admitting he had. It wasn't something he needed to be lectured about. "You wouldn't understand."

"Man, I have been watching you dance this dance for twenty years, I understand plenty." He sighed. "I promised you once that I was with you to the end of the line. I still am. But from where I'm sitting you passed the line about a hundred miles ago. So this is me telling you to _stop running_."

"This isn't even really about me," Steve said. "This is about you wanting to go home and play house."

" _Of course_ I want to go home and play house. I have a girl I love and I want to start a life with her. The question is why do you? I know you have to miss Peggy as much as I miss Amanda."

"I've been doing that for most of the war." It was a non answer that was probably only going to irritate Bucky, but they were wandering into topic he didn't want to discuss.

"Then of course the logical thing is to drag it out for as long as possible. Do you get off on punishing yourself?"

He ground his teeth. "What are you going to do when you get home?"

Bucky paused. "I don't know. Work with Pop, probably."

"You think I could do that? Think anyone would hire Captain America to build them a garage?" He looked over at him. "Just because you and Peggy still see Steve doesn't mean anybody else will."

"Are you planning to wear the outfit when we get back home? 'Cause in a suit and hat and not on a newsreel you don't look _that_ much different from a hundred other GIs trying to find their way after the war. If you don't want to be Captain America then _stop being Captain America_."

Well. He had been on the cover of both Time and Life recently, one without the helmet. He was pretty sure he was more recognizable than Bucky thought. But the larger point wasn't wrong. "I have no idea who else to be."

"Then you figure it out." He looked down at her metal hand, laying still in his lap. "No one is going home the same guy they came here. Your changes may be more obvious than most. But it's the same struggle. Least you won't be alone while you sort it out."

"You should go," he found himself saying. "If you want to go home, you should. Start a life, have some babies. You've done your bit for King and Country. And me."

Bucky stared at him a moment. When Steve risked a glance at his face he couldn't read the expression there. Finally he shook his head and said, "Fine. Maybe I will."

Steve felt a pit in his stomach, but he just stared out at the road.

*

Things had been understandable tense between him and Steve since the girls had gone home and they'd had their chat in that truck. They hadn't held a grudge like this since the Marble Incident of '31. He supposed one of them would need to break eventually, if for no other reason then you couldn't give a team member the silent treatment in a fire fight. But for now they were holding their own.

It dimmed the general boisterousness of the rest of the guys. Which was just wonderful. Now he was stuck here, and everyone was in a bad mood.

He was sitting in his tent, seriously considering just leaving without him when Morita shoved the flap open. "Communications tent. Now."

Bucky stood up and followed. "What's wrong?"

"You got a telegram. We don't get a lot of those, they're expensive as hell. Jones is transcribing it, but I heard the first sentence and it's for you and it's urgent."

They got to the tent to find Jones with a set of headphones on, jotting down notes. He held up a finger to ask them to wait, then handed Bucky a scrap of paper.

To James Barnes STOP Peggy arrested STOP Hog tie him if you have to but get Steve home STOP Hurry STOP Amanda FULL STOP

He stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Morita. "Go find Cap. Right now."

"On it," he said and went running.

"Should I get HQ on the horn?" Jones asked quietly.

"Yeah. We're going to need emergency leave and a lift."

"On it."

Bucky stepped out of the tent to find Morita all but dragging Steve in his direction. Time to end the feud, he supposed. He held the paper out to Steve when they reached him. "We're going to New York."

He scanned the paper, his frown deepening. "Yeah, we are."

Not that he'd expected an argument, but the immediate agreement was nice. They hustled back to their tents and packed go bags and by the time they got back Jones had extraction coordinates for them. They were hopping a supply plane to London, then a general was giving them a lift back to the states. The supply plane was leaving in less than two hours, so they had to hustle. Dernier drove like a maniac but they got to the landing spot in record time.

Steve was dead silent, answering all question in a short, clipped tone and with few words. It wasn't until they were actually on the plane that he said, "There's got to be some kind of 'I told you so' coming."

"I don't like to think of myself as that petty," he replied evenly.

That might have been the opening to some sort of familiar banter, but Steve didn't take the bait. He just sighed. "Maybe, but I probably deserve it."

He looked out the window at the wispy clouds passing beneath the plane. "You're good at punishing yourself. I don't need to help." He glanced back at Steve. "For what it's worth, I think she'd have done all this even if you were there. Only difference is you'd be in cuffs with her."

"Maybe I could have done something useful with the fame and reputation I dislike so much. Vouch for Howard with the Senate. Maybe none of this happens."

Bucky threw his hands up. "Maybe little green aliens land and blow up the Vatican. Who cares? It's not how it played. Beating yourself up over 'what if' doesn't help anybody. Fix the problem we have now."

"I'm on this airplane, aren't it?"

"You just didn't want me to hog tie you."

"You know I'm bigger than you now, right?" Steve asked.

"Eh, I know where you're ticklish."

Steve laughed and shook his head, and Bucky felt like now they were officially no longer fighting. And no one had thrown a punch. "Thanks for coming along," Steve said. "I know there are other motives as well, but thank you just the same."

"Anytime, pal. I don't imagine this is the last time she'll get herself into a pickle."

"Probably not, no. Unless we end up fugitives on the lam."

He was pretty sure that wasn't likely. Not impossible, though. Things could always go south. "Well, I guess that'll be a different kind of help."

"I would, you know. Break her out, flee the country. I'd go to Russia if I had to."

"I know you would." Their friendship had been built on such loyalty. "Can we try to do it the legal way first? Or should we spend the trip planning prison breaks?"

"No," he said with a laugh. "It's just a strange realization. I think I care so much about duty and patriotism, and yet. . ." he shrugged.

It was kind of a relief to hear him talk that way. "Dames do funny things to us."

He grinned. "Come on, now, Peggy's not a dame."

Bucky held up his hands. "Right, right. Sorry."

"Gonna pick a date for your wedding now?" Steve asked after a moment.

"We can get Peggy sorted and then figure that out." He was quiet. "Good to know our girls watch out for each other."

"Their friendship doesn't make you even a little bit nervous?"

He shrugged. "I always hoped we'd marry girls who were friends. Makes everything a hell of a lot easier."

"Is _that_ why you were always trying to hook me up with your girlfriends' friends?"

"It seemed the most efficient way. Hey remember the Hopkins twins? I thought that was a sure thing."

"Those girls always thought they were getting another you."

Looking back, he'd probably talked Steve up a bit too much to potential dates. He'd always hoped one of them would see what he saw and give him half a chance. "Well, I guess the only girl who could tell you were miles better than me was in England. Waiting for you to find her."

That made Steve smile. "I hope she forgives me."

"She will. You should grovel a bit, it'll help."

Steve gazed out the window. "Maybe I could take her on a real honeymoon."

Now that was promising. "You could take her to the shore. Or upstate to one of those resorts."

"I think Howard owes us an all expenses paid trip somewhere really nice."

Bucky leaned his head back, closing his eyes to get as comfortable as he could for the long flight. "Amen to that, brother."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers events in the Marvel's Agent Carter episode _SNAFU_ ep0107. It will make more sense if you've seen it and spoil it for you if you have not.

Men had a remarkably narrow view of women's motivations. 

Peggy had seen Thompson and the others conduct countless interrogations. They poked at a wide array of motives, hoping to find the chink in the subjects armor. Hoping to find the topic that would make him flinch.

A woman gets in trouble, though. . . and she must be fucking someone.

The angle they were on at the moment was about her having an affair with Howard Stark. It had wandered around that central topic for a while, though the Three Stooges seemed conflicted on whether she was doing this because she was in love with Howard, or because she was trying to keep the affair covered up, lest Steve found out. The wind had shifted towards option two about an hour ago, when Sousa had been going on about Howard's apparently irresistible charms and she'd slammed her hands on the desk and growled, "Have you _seen_ what my husband looks like?"

Thompson was a champion of the blackmail theory. "Hey. I saw you two in Russia. I think most of the camp heard you." Now he was just being crass for sport. "Your marriage is happy. When you're together. Which is really not very often, is it?"

"And obviously I would turn to the next available man to sate my needs." There would be a puddle of scorn under her chair when this was over. "I don't know if I'm more insulted that you think I'd be unfaithful or that you think I'd be unfaithful with _Howard_."

"Nine out of ten movie stars can't be wrong," he replied. "People get lonely. I noticed months ago, you twist your rings around when you talk about him, and many other times when I assume you're thinking about him." Leave it to Thompson to ferret out the one irrelevant grain of truth. She was lonely. And maybe she'd blinked a little when he'd pushed on what she couldn't deny was a soft spot. But what she missed was Steve, not just a generic bedmate. "Now you don't twist them much anymore."

Also true. Because going from British war rations to Amanda's elaborate meals had caused her to put on ten pounds, and they weren't loose enough to turn anymore. 

"That's your evidence? Ring twisting?' She scoffed. "I'll make a note not to play poker with you but I don't think you'll be putting me away for ring twisting."

"Dammit, Rogers." He paced away from the table.

"I did not have an affair with Howard," she said, loudly and clearly. "I've never done _anything_ with Howard other than try to find out who stole his weapons."

Now it was Thompson's turn to scoff. "Stole."

"Yes. Stole. Howard is not the man you want. But the SSR is myopic when it comes to Howard Stark, which is why I was conducting my own investigation."

"That isn't true. Before Sousa sniffed you out, we were starting to explore other avenues."

Well, at least he wasn't turning back to Howard again. "Then by all means, let's stroll down another avenue, what would you like to discuss?"

Before Thompson could answer there was a tap at the door and Dooley stepped in, gesturing Thompson over. They spoke in hushed tones a moment and Peggy sighed. Perhaps she should tell them she was on her monthlies again. They'd be sure to let her go.

Thompson left and Dooley took his place on the other end of the table. "I want to talk about the battle of Finow."

That was. . . rather random. Cautiously, she replied, "Very well. But you'll be doing all the talking. I saw no action at Finow."

"That worked out good for you. Because most of people that served their are dead, except for a few of your Russian buddies."

Peggy rolled her eyes and shook her head. With all they thought she had done and they still weren't taking her seriously. Well, if they wanted to get personal, she could play that game just as well as they could. "You think you know me," she said and watched Dooley reel back a little at her tone. "But I've never been more than what each of you has created. To you, I'm the stray kitten, left on your doorstep to be protected. The secretary turned damsel in distress. The girl on the pedestal, turned into some daft whore." She aimed that last at the two way mirror, in case Sousa was there watching. 

"You're behaving like children," she added. "And what's worse, what's far worse, is that this is just shoddy police work. I was inches away from an answer. From finding out who's really behind this. And instead you have me in here to talk about my sex life like a group of gossiping old hags."

Dooley crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe we'll just wait. Thompson's talking to your German friend. Somehow I don't think she'll hold up under pressure as well as you."

Peggy stared at him a moment. And then, despite her predicament, despite the fact they _still_ weren't listening to her. And despite the fact that Amanda had now officially been dragged into this mess, she started to laugh.

"You want to tell me why that's funny?" Dooley asked.

"Ah." She shook her head. "You should read people's personnel reports before bringing them in for questioning. My _Austrian_ friend was a prisoner of Hydra for sixteen months. That scar on her face? She didn't get it from misapplying lipstick. She stitched up a knife wound on her own cheek with no anesthesia in a cell a third the size of this room." One dark night she and Amanda had gotten too far into a bottle of bourbon and started to tell war stories. Peggy had never questioned why the other woman had nightmares again.

"I sincerely doubt Agent Thompson has the stomach to break her," she added, sobering. "Even if she did know anything about this, which she does not." How very like them, though. They had already judged the scientists as weak, and Amanda being a woman only compounded that. They took in the glasses and the accent and her generally quiet nature and came to the conclusion she would crack easily, just by looking at her.

The funniest part was Peggy was fairly certain women, as a sex, were far more capable of coping with pain—even torture level pain—than men were. Survival of the species quite literally depended on that. But it wasn't exactly something she'd convince Dooley.

They did a few more rounds, though at least now he was pushing at her about Finow and not Howard. Then someone rapped on the glass and he left her alone few a few minutes. When the door opened again it was Thompson, who, without a word, unhooked her from the table, cuffed her hands behind her back and marched her through the office to one of the meeting rooms.

There, to her surprise, was Mr. Jarvis, chatting with Dooley, Sousa leaning on the wall to one side. Amanda sat at the other end of the table, looking as cool and unruffled as always. She even smiled at Peggy when she came in.

She looked from one to the other. "What's going on?"

"There, now you've seen her," Dooley said. "Can we get down to brass tacks now?"

"I'm afraid the charade is over, Agent Carter," Jarvis said in his primmest butler voice. "Mr. Stark has decided to come clean."

Dooley held up a sheaf of papers. "His confession."

She looked down at the papers, then back up at Jarvis. "What. . . has he confessed to?" she asked carefully.

"Everything," Dooley said, sounding like he didn't really believe this was happening either. "Jobbing his vault, selling to the Russians, even the Roxxon factory explosion."

"Where's the man himself?" Thompson asked before Peggy could voice the same question. Though she would have used less derision. Possibly.

Jarvis made a show of looking at his watch. "Somewhere over Greenland." He went on to explain how Howard would be landing soon and the SSR would get him and the signature for the confession once Peggy was released.

Dooley, however, wanted Howard's actual presence before he would release either her _or_ Jarvis, who was apparently being detained as well. "Her, too," he said, pointing at Amanda.

Her brows went up. "Your distrust is hurtful," she told him in the blandest voice possible.

"You'll live." He ordered the cuffs taken off Peggy, which was nice, but proceeded to fire her on his way out the door. That. . . that stung. Quite a bit. She shouldn't have been surprised, of course. She was lucky she wasn't being tried for treason. What on earth would she do with herself now?

"I'm sorry, Peggy," Amanda said quietly when she had finished gathering up her personal effects.

She rubbed her forehead. "I suppose we're lucky they didn't fire you too, for spite." She sighed. "At least I don't need a visa."

Jarvis made a little noise next to her and it occurred to her there wasn't one American in the room. No wonder they were suspicious. She looked at Jarvis. "And what does this confession portray me as? A patsy? A doe eyed innocent?" She trusted Howard not to play the affair angle. He had more respect for her - and Steve - than that.

"That is the gist, yes," Jarvis confirmed. "With a bankruptcy side plot sprinkled on top to provide motive for Mr. Stark's deeds."

She chuckled a bit. "Nice flourish."

"I would not have thought Howard noble enough to step forward like this," Amanda commented. "How ever did you get in touch with him so quickly?"

He studied the conference table with interest. "About that. . ."

Oh no. Peggy hadn't thought this could get worse, but apparently she was wrong. "Did Howard write that confession, Mr. Jarvis?"

"He. . . did not."

Yes. It was now worse. She turned slowly to face him and put her hand on her hip. "Did _you_ write that confession, Mr. Jarvis?"

"I did."

"Oh, flipping hell." She paced away from him, trying to breathe.

"When we are out of this mess I'm going to sell the story to the Captain America Adventure radio show," Amanda said, shaking her head slowly.

"I called for help many times," Jarvis was explaining. "Mr. Stark never answered. I left countless messages. So then I panicked. And I panicked again. And then put my own particular skills to use."

She shouldn't be angry. He was trying to help. The fact that he'd done it in such a stupid way was not, entirely, his fault. "Oh, for the love of God, man."

"As I said, panic was involved."

"Perhaps the next time you panic you should have a cup of tea and consider not committing fraud," Amanda suggested.

"And then when Howard doesn't land, what then? Now you will be going to jail, too."

"Jail?" he said thinly.

"Until our trials and what I imagine will be severe punishment. Have you ever been hanged, Mr. Jarvis?"

"I can't say that I have, no."

"It's quite unpleasant."

Amanda raised her hand. "As far as execution methods go-"

"Oh, shut up." Peggy paced away from the both of them. What next? A bomb threat? A Russian invasion?

On the other side of the office, something caught her eye. Dr. Ivchenko was standing at the window of Dooley's office, tapping the windowsill in Morse code. She watched a moment, then turned and scrambled for a pen and pad of paper. As she marked out the dots and dashes Jarvis stepped closer to peer over her shoulder.

"Prepare . . . for . . . evacuation."

"You know Morse code?" she asked, not taking her eyes off Ivchenko.

"Your surprise wounds me." 

Amanda stood and glanced through the window blinds. "There is a window open in the building across the street. I can't see who's in it." She looked over at them. "I told you there was something off with that man."

"They're mapping out a timetable. Ninety minutes." _Leviathan is coming_. Peggy looked over at Amanda. "Do you think they still trust you, or are you in this?"

"Thompson tried to threaten to have me deported," she said. "I don't know that I'm on anyone's happy list."

"I had no idea his repertoire was so narrow," Jarvis commented. "Did he threaten you with deportation, too?" he asked Peggy. 

"I married an American citizen," she replied distractedly. "Doesn't matter. We need their attention and trust, and we need it right now. Suggestions?"

"I've played my only hand," Jarvis said regretfully. "And it's a fake one."

"We could tell them the truth," Amanda offered.

"They have no reason to believe is."

"They will eventually realize that Howard isn't coming and that that confession is a fake. If we beat them to the punch and lay what we have on the table, they may be inclined to believe us."

"Will they do so in 90 minutes is the question."

Jarvis looked down at the pad of paper again, then back at her. "It's worth trying. Is it not?"

Peggy looked from him to Amanda and back at her notes. Then she took a deep breath and pushed through the doors. "Chief Dooley? I'd like to make a confession."

So then they sat in a conference room, where Peggy told them absolutely everything, from the night Howard almost ran her over up to Amanda's side project to neutralize the weapons once they were in the SSR's possession. Dooley was particularly pissed about that one.

"That was not your call to make," he told her.

"Nor was it yours." Amanda had been quiet up until this point, letting Peggy do most of the talking. "Howard has many flaws. I can make you a list. But he is as smart as he says he is. If he thinks these things are too dangerous, then they are. And given the fact that my colleagues in the lab were acting like five year olds given keys to the candy store when the crates came in I felt it in everyone’s best interest to make sure they didn't blow up the lab. Or the entire building."

Thompson shook his head. "I leaned on you with everything we had and you didn't even turn a hair."

"Yes. You were very imposing. Someday you can buy me a strong drink and I will tell you what it felt like when Hydra leaned on me with everything they had."

Peggy couldn't help giving the chief a little "I told you so" look.

He looked at his men, then back at her. "You three stay here. We need to talk." Without another word they got up and filed out of the room.

Silence reigned for a moment. "Well. That went well," Jarvis said brightly.

"Even if they listen," Amanda asked, "Do you think we'll still be charged with something?"

Peggy rubbed her eyes. "I don't know. Depends on if the SSR wants a big, public scandal. Steve's fame may yet save us." She reached to twist her rings and forced herself to stop. She desperately wished he was here right now. 

Amanda cleared her throat and said, "There's something I haven't had a chance to tell you."

"I thought we agreed to lay everything on the table," she replied, glancing up at where she could see Dooley, Thompson and Sousa talking intently.

"I didn't think it relevant to them." She cleared her throat again. "I sent James a telegram. Before they caught me."

Peggy looked at her. "Why? It's just going to worry them."

"I told him you were arrested and to bring Steve home."

"Ah," she said. "Well. I appreciate the effort, but Steve isn't going to come home, not just for this."

Amanda stared at her a moment before saying, "You were arrested."

"You're his _wife_ ," Jarvis said in almost unison.

"Whatever is keeping him over there, be it duty or fear or. . . anything really. All of the above. I fear it may be stronger than anything he feels for me."

"Sometimes it takes a crisis to bring into focus what is really important," Jarvis offered gently.

"It doesn't matter," she said, because she didn't want to talk or think about it. "I don't expect he'd be able to do anything about this particular immediate situation, anyway."

"He could punch someone," Amanda offered. "That might be entertaining."

The little conference outside had ended, with Dooley heading into his office with Ivchenko and Sousa and Thompson grabbing two other agents and heading for the door. "Well," Peggy muttered. "That looks promising."

All they could do was wait. She could see Dooley and Ivchenko talking, and she noticed idly that Ivchenko twisted his wedding ring around. She wondering if Thompson made something sinister out of that when a man did it. Probably not.

Eventually Dooley stood and marched back into their meeting room, ordering them out. He wouldn't tell her what was going on, only that it wasn't safe to talk. The idea that Leviathan could have ears in the SSR was unsettling at best. What on earth had the men uncovered across the street.

When he pulled a gun on them in the interrogation room she knew things had gone very, very wrong. 

*

After they were left locked in the interrogation room, they did a bit of yelling before smashing in the two way mirror, which brought Thompson in to see what the ruckus was about. It didn't take them long to find the chief, in his office, strapped into another one of Howard's dysfunctional inventions. A vest that was supposed to be a combination of body armor and heat source—except it turned out to have an inevitable tendency to explode, and could not be opened. Ivchenko had hypnotized him, gotten him to help steal something from the lab, and then left him unconscious.

Amanda stood studying the glowing red vest while the others yammered around her. She had never interacted with Chief Dooley before today. He'd spoken to her for five minutes before Agent Thompson had come in to interrogate her. Peggy seemed to respect him, more or less. And she rather admired how calm he was despite the fact he had a bomb, essentially, strapped to his chest.

Peggy and Jarvis were arguing about cold and artillery when she finally said, "What about electricity?"

They both looked at her, and then Jarvis said, "I'm sorry?"

"It's a battery. It has circuits. If you shock it.- electrocute it - then the circuits don't complete anymore. No more overheating." She realized everyone was now looking at her so she added, "No boom," for the slower minds in the room.

"Won't I also be electrocuted?" Dooley asked it rather matter-of-factly.

"With immediate medical attention electrocution is very survivable." He looked skeptical, so she added. "More so than exploding, at least." She looked at the rest of them. "I've been sabotaging Howard's things for weeks now. Occasionally it require scalpel precision, but more often a sledge hammer will do. It should work."

"I don't have any better ideas," Doobin added.

"With the other option of doing nothing, I'll definitely die," Dooley said. "I'll try it."

She turned to Doobin. "You know what my defibrillator looks like?" He nodded. "Go get it and something that will cut through the vest quickly." He ran off. "I need my medical bag, I had it when you arrested me."

"On it." One of the junior agents ran off.

A few minutes later they had Dooley laid out in the interrogation room floor. The walls were reinforced, in case the electric shock caused the vest to blow anyway. Amanda set up her equipment as the chief gave his last orders. Which included demanding Peggy find the people who had done this to him. How far they had come.

Peggy gave her a look. "Is there anything -"

"James knows how I feel," she said brusquely, watching the needle on the defib move up as it charged. "He'll understand." The other woman hesitated a moment, perhaps wondering if she should talk her out of it. "Go, Peggy," she said gently.

Dooley waited until the agents had left and closed the door, then looked at Amanda. "You sure about this?"

She studied the defib again. "I believe this is your best chance of making it to dinner."

"Right." He blew out a breath. The vest was starting to scald his skin. She'd have to treat that when this was over. Hopefully. "Times like this I wish I was still a praying man."

"You're Catholic?" she asked.

"Lapsed."

"I am a lapsed Lutheran," she told him. The needle was at max and she turned to him. "Perhaps if you pray to your God and I pray to mine one of them will see fit to listen."

He smiled and chuckled a little. "I like that." He took a breath and his jaw tightened. "Do it."

Without another word she slammed the paddles into his chest and hit the button for the charge. Dooley's body arched painfully. The red light of the vest flared brighter and for a heartbeat she thought she'd been wrong. Then there was a crackle, a pop, and the smell of ozone and the light faded.

She tossed the paddles aside, grabbed the shears Doobin had brought her and rolled the chief to his side, slicing up the side of the vest before peeling it off him and tossing it towards the door. "Clear!" she yelled loud enough for those waiting in the hall to hear. She heard the door slam open but ignored it, focusing on her patient.

There was no pulse at his neck, so she ripped his shirt open and picked up the long needle she'd prepared. One of the men asked what the hell that was for. She ignored them, found the spot between the chief's fourth and fifth ribs and drove the needle between it, into his heart. Which she promptly flooded with adrenaline.

He jerked conscious with a shout, scrambling away from her to sit up against the wall. He panted a moment, then noticed the needle still dangling from his ribs and gave another little shout.

Calmly, Amanda reached forward and pulled the needle out, pressing a square of gauze over the injection site. She glanced up at the people coming in from the doorway. Peggy was grinning. Thompson looked green. "Someone be useful and call an ambulance," Amanda said. Then she looked back at Dooley. "How do you feel, Chief?"

"Surprisingly alive."

"I am a very good doctor. Though when the adrenaline wears off you might wish you were other wise."

"Right. Someone call my wife and have her meet me at the hospital." He waved Thompson over to help him up. "Figure out what Ivchenko took. Track him down. And you -" He pointed at Amanda. "Help yourself to the liquor in my desk drawer."

As far as payment went, she'd had worse.

"Don't get drunk yet," Peggy said. "We'll need your help identifying what they stole."

"Of course." She gathered up her bag and followed the rest of them back to the bull pen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers events in the Marvel's Agent Carter episode _Valediction_ ep0108. If you haven't seen it you'll be totally spoiled and I refuse to take responsibility for that. Got watch Agent Carter. We're getting a season 2 you know!
> 
> I apologize again for any German mistakes. I checked two different places and did my best.

Doobin was waiting for them. "We've checked every crate. The only thing missing, other than the vest, is item 17." He looked at Amanda. "That was one of yours."

Blood was roaring in her ears. "The gas canisters."

"What was in them?" Peggy asked.

She rubbed her face. "i didn't get a chance to test them properly. And Howard refused to tell me."

"Gas canisters mean poison," Thompson muttered. "Like in the first war?"

"Not necessarily," she said. "Oh, I'm going to kill that _Mistkerl_."

"What else could they be?"

"I don't - He asked me once about the effects of sleep deprivation on the brain. This was back in London during the war. When the questions crossed the line from idle inquiry to persistent I asked why he wanted to know. He told me the army once asked him to figure out a way to let soldiers stay awake for days at the time. I gave him a lecture on brain chemistry and he never mentioned it again. I thought that was the end of it but now that I think of it. . . it's possible he was asking about a prior mistake, not a future endeavor." She shook her head. "Or it could be some sort of gas that turns people inside out. God knows with Howard."

"Why would you manufacture something like that?" Doobin asked.

"Which one, the sleep deprivation or the turning inside out?"

"Amanda," Peggy warned.

She sighed and eyed Dooley's office. Desk liquor was sounding really good right now. "Do any of you have an art? A passion? Something you feel you _must_ do or it will drive you mad? I think that's what Howard is like. He gets these ideas and he has to see them through. When we were working on James's arm sometimes he would stop in the middle of a conversation and jot something down, draw schematics for some random machine or another. I don't think he can stop himself."

"So it's out there, whatever it is. How do we find it?" Thompson asked.

There had been several canisters in the crate. She had a mental picture of them in her head. If only she'd neutralized them. She'd assumed that since they were in the canisters they'd be safe. No one here was stupid enough to discharge a gas canister with an unknown material in it. "Well, I imagine they'll use it soon. If they haven't already."

"How do you know that?"

"Because this was a distraction," Peggy said. "The chief, the vest. It was to keep us from following them. He'll want to strike while he thinks we're otherwise occupied."

"Are there any sporting events in the city today?" Amanda asked the men.

"Tomorrow is V-E Day," Peggy said. "Big thing in Times Square."

Amanda shook her head, packing away slowly. She tried to put herself in Ivchenko's shoes. Think like a villain. "Releasing the gas in open air is unpredictable. He's a doctor and very smart. He would test it somewhere contained. Where he could monitor the results. A trial run." She turned back to them. "If you wanted to contain a group of people in a closed area where would you do it?"

"A train car?" Peggy suggested.

Then Jarvis said, "A theatre."

" _Yes_. That would be ideal. Wide range of people. Different ages, different backgrounds. Perfect trial run."

"We can't close every theater in the city," Thompson said. At least he sounded more frustrated than condescending. That was progress.

"I have no way to narrow it down more," she told him. "I am not, actually, a mad scientist."

Peggy sighed. "So we wait."

Her stomach sank, helplessness dragging her down. "May I have that drink now?"

They all had a drink, though it didn't help much. An hour later a call came in that there had been a massacre at a movie theater down town. Peggy went with the men and Amanda stayed behind, calling the hospital to check on Dooley's status and set up equipment to test the canister when and if they found one.

The team returned with the canister and an unconscious Sousa, who had apparently gotten a small dose of the gas and had attacked Thompson and Peggy. They strapped him to a bed, she took samples from him and the canister and took them back to her lab.

She was in there most of the night. Peggy brought her tea a couple times and told her when Sousa woke up. 

At dawn, the last of her tests were done and she went up to the bullpen, waving her reports and raging in an incomprehensible blend of English and German.

"English, Doc, English," Thompson said. When she was done being mad at Howard, she'd be happy he called her Doc.

She stopped and took a deep breath. " _Es ist eine Kombination von verschiedenen-_ " Thompson shook his head, so she tried again. "It's a combination of various chemicals that mimic serotonin and norepinephrine. They keep you awake and alert. But because that _Drecksau_ doesn't actually know how brain chemistry works, it also produces the side effects of sleep deprivation."

"Which are...?" Thompson prompted.

"Anger. Violence. Lack of decision making. Lack of reason. It turns off thinking."

"Mauling people?" Sousa offered. He and Peggy had come in behind her.

His voice sounded hoarse and she made a mental note to give him an exam later. "There were studies in sleep deprivation. Years ago. After several days people can experience psychosis and hallucinations. There's probably a percentage of the population that would be immune, or simply shut down. But it's clear from the events at the theater that violence is the common reaction."

"Howard made this?" Peggy asked. "I can't believe that."

Anger bubbled up again. "He would not have known it would have these side effects. He's not a biochemist. He's just _eine egoistische Arschgeige, der sich für Gott hält_."

"There she goes again," Thompson muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

"Anybody speak German?" Sousa asked.

"I do," replied one of the other agents. "But no way am I repeating that in front of my boss."

"I'm going to assume it wasn't directly relevant to the case. Can you cure it? Make a counter agent."

She reminded herself to breathe again. " _Theoretisch ja. Es würde Wochen dauern, vielleicht Monate_."

"Not in time to help us," the other agent supplied.

"If we can figure out the larger meaning to this," Peggy said slowly, "Figure out why, maybe we can figure out how to stop him."

"I can probably help with that."

The cocky words made Amanda see red all over again. And she'd just started to calm down. They all turned to find Howard Stark standing in the middle of the bullpen, Mr. Jarvis next to him.

Thompson and the other men all pulled guns, shouting for him to get his hands up. Poor Jarvis obeyed but Howard, true to form, just shook his head. "What kind of welcome is this?"

Heedless of the dozen guns behind her, Amanda strode forward. Howard actually smiled, as if he expected a warm hug. Instead, she pulled her fist back and punched him, picturing her fist going through his head, just like her father had taught her.

It sent him on his ass and she heard him mutter. "The right jab. Always the right jab."

*

Getting into the SSR was surprisingly easy. The ladies at "the phone company" certainly recognized Captain America on sight. 

Steve and Bucky stepped off the elevator to the sound of a woman yelling very loudly several doors away. Steve stopped and tilted his head. "Is that. . . Amanda?"

Bucky listened a minute. "Yes. And that's. . . a lot of German. Someone fucked up."

They followed the yelling to a meeting room where Peggy, Amanda, Stark, his butler, and two SSR guys were sitting, papers and photos spread out on the table.

"This is what comes of dabbling." Amanda was shouting, obviously at Howard. "You cannot wake up one morning and decide you're a bio chemist, _du Hurensohn_."

"I know," Howard said, sounding tired.

"Do you know how many years I went to school to learn not to do things like this?!"

"I _know_!"

Everyone was so engrossed in watching the show nobody noticed the two of them standing in the doorway. Steve glanced over at Bucky, who was grinning proudly.

"Look," Howard said, before she could start another rant. "When Project Rebirth - when Steve - worked, no one cared that Erskine was the medic and I was the machines. Everyone in a lab coat was the same. They needed something and they came to me. And I - I just -"

"Couldn't admit you don't know something," Amanda filled in, but some of the wind was out of her sails.

It seemed a natural pause in the drama, so Steve cleared his throat.

They all looked up. Several jaws dropped. Even Stark looked surprised and nothing ever seemed to phase him.

Then Peggy said in a small, choked voice, "Steve?"

She look so surprised to see him. Had Amanda not told her? "I heard you needed some back-up."

Heedless of everyone else in the room, she skirted the table and walked to him, wrapping her arms around him. "You came," she said softly.

Out the corner of his eye he saw Amanda throw herself at Bucky with enough force to knock him back.

Steve held Peggy and kissed her hair. "Of course I came." He closed his eyes, realizing she'd thought he wouldn't. He completely deserved it, but it hurt just the same.

"I'm here, too," Howard said.

"Shut up, Stark," Agent Thompson said.

" _Fick dich ins Knie_ ," Amanda added, voice muffled in Bucky's shirt.

Ignoring them all, Peggy leaned back a little and cupped Steve's face. Her eyes were teary, but she smiled. "It's very good to see you, darling."

He kissed her tenderly, and whispered, "I'm so sorry. For so many things."

She just kissed him few a few moments, then one of the men in the room cleared his throat politely. "If you need a minute I could find you a private room but we do still have a vengeful Russian on the loose with enough gas to send half of New York into a rage."

He watched Peggy take a steadying breath, wipe her eyes, and tuck her composure back into place. She straightened her shoulders. "This is Agent Sousa, Agent Thompson you know, I assume reverse introductions are not needed." 

"Hey," Howard said. "Before the German yelling starts again, Barnes, come here and show this man your arm."

Sousa looked vaguely embarrassed, but Bucky sighed and gamely went over, Amanda tagging along. Peggy pulled Steve to the other side of the table and caught him up on the events of the last twenty four hours.

"So, I'm no longer arrested, though Howard is," she finished up. "We're fairly confident Ivchenko will hit the V-E celebrations. Airports have been shut down, but with his hypnosis abilities there's no guarantee he won't get airborne anyway."

"And the trip to Russia was just a ruse to get him here?" Steve asked.

"Pretty much. The army dropped Midnight Oil on the Russians at Finow, and Ivchenko—Fenhoff, whatever his name is, was one of the survivors. We think he might be particularly angry at Howard."

Steve looked over at him. "You made the army poison gas?"

"By accident," Howard said. "And then they raided my lab and stole it. Which is why I had a vault. And why Amanda was crippling the devices once the SSR had them." This prompted another angry eruption of German, to which Howard replied. "I know. I should have told you about 17 and I'm sorry."

" _Danke_ , was that so hard?"

He stared at her a moment. "That's it? I just had to apologize?" He looked over at Steve. "You see? Women."

"Are we doing a round of apologies, now?" Peggy asked. She turned and gave her two coworkers a significant look. Steve didn't know what about, but he sensed a glare from hime would help, so he provided it. 

Sousa and Thompson exchanged glances, then looked down like scolded children. "I'm sorry we arrested you and charged you with treason," Sousa said.

"I'm sorry I interrogated you and accused you of having an affair with Stark." Amanda cleared her throat and Thompson sighed. "And threatened to deport you."

Steve looked from one to the other. They both looked like they thought he might punch them. Of course, any idiot with muscles could swing his fist. He was Captain America. "I assure you, your boss's boss would not have appreciated the phone call from President Truman."

They both turned pale, which was rather gratifying. Peggy looked back at him, grinned. "I think we're good now."

"Now that that's out of the way," Howard said. "I was going to suggest we draw him out, using me as bait."

"I like this plan," Bucky said.

Thompson leaned back in his chair. "Something big. Public. Real showy."

"Well, that's the only way I do it," Howard grinned.

"That is way too dangerous," Steve said. "If he's got that woman with him it might elevate to suicidal."

"But now I have Captain America and his trusty sidekick here to keep me safe." 

"I will punch you Howard," Bucky told him pleasantly.

"Yeah, your girl beat you to it."

"Stop being you for a second, Howard," Steve said.

"I'm _not_ being me right now." His tone had changed, from jovial Stark smugness to something much more serious. "This is my fault, Steve. You know it, Peggy knows it. Everyone in this room knows it. Finow, the theater, the agent that got shot. It's all on me."

Peggy shifted, as if she might put a hand on his arm. "You're punishing yourself."

"I'm redeeming myself," Howard corrected. "I've had to go through my life not caring what people think of me. But I care what you think of me. And Peggy and Barnes. Even you." That with a gesture at Amanda. He looked back at Steve and Peggy. "Maybe there's a better way to do this but we don't have time to figure it out. I trust you to keep me safe. All of you." He paused and looked at Thompson and Sousa. "Maybe not you, no offense, I don't know you two from Adam."

"We'll keep you safe," Bucky said. "I need you to keep improving the arm."

"And you will not have to depend entirely on us." Amanda stepped away from Bucky and leaned down to put an arm around Howard's shoulders. "Would you like to see your babies?"

" _Yes_."

A few minutes later Amanda, Bucky, Howard and Jarvis had headed to the labs to get Howard protection and Sousa and Thompson had gone to set up the press conference, leaving Steve and Peggy alone.

She tucked herself back into his arms. "Thank you for coming."

"You didn't think I would, did you?" he asked quietly.

She was silent a moment, which was answer enough. "I know you're busy. It might have been difficult to get away."

He sighed. "I've been kind of a lousy husband, haven't I?"

"Well, I don't have any to compare you to." She leaned back to look at him seriously. "But you have room for improvement."

"You told me you needed me, and I didn't listen. I'm sorry for that. I was too busy being afraid of the future."

She ran her hands up and down his arms. "I know you feel. . . lost and don't know what to do with yourself. I understand. I really do. But I do believe we're better together. We can figure it out. Something that will make you happy."

"You make me happy," he replied. "Seems like a good start."

Her smile was utterly brilliant. She went up on her toes to kiss him. "I love you."

*

If Leviathan was planning on sniping Howard, they were going to be disappointed, because Bucky had the best view in town.

The crowd of reporters was milling about, waiting for someone to start talking. Peggy was easy to spot in her bright blue suit. On the other side of the crowd was Steve, in cognito in a suit and hat. So far, no one had shouted "Holy shit, that's Captain America." Probably because he was supposed to be in Europe, knee deep in spring mud.

God, he really hoped they weren't going back to Europe.

Amanda was on the steps of the building, tucked in near the door, doctor's bag in her hand. Just in case they did manage to wing Howard. Though he didn't think even his Doc could fix a bullet in the head. 

His radio crackled, and Peggy's voice came over it. "Anyone see anything?"

The ground troops checked in with negatives, then Bucky picked up his. "When Howard comes out, you want me to solve all our problems?"

"Very funny, Buck." Steve sounded more like his old, skinny self on the radio.

"They're here somewhere," Peggy said.

He could see Thompson talking now, relying on note cards in his hands. Based on the way Howard was leaning in, Bucky was willing to bet he was offering commentary and additions. Then Howard took the mic.

One reporter immediately asked a question about whether he was hiding at the residence of Barbara Stanwick. "Looks like they don't follow gossip," Steve commented over his radio. "Isn't she on his list of people who want to punch him?"

"You have _no_ idea how long that list is," Peggy said. "No idea."

He really wished he'd been there when Amanda'd decked Howard. He was told it had actually knocked him to the ground. Maybe she'd have and excuse to do it again later. She was still pretty pissed about the Midnight Oil.

A shot echoed across the buildings and the glass behind Howard broke. Bucky frowned. That was a pretty terrible shot for a sniper. Especially one who'd been training since they were a kid.

The chatter on the radio was pretty useless, until Peggy said it came from the hotel and he could swing his scope over to check it out. He spotted the gun, but no one behind it. He checked the windows up and down and to either side of it, then grabbed the radio. "It's a decoy. Repeat, there's no one behind the trigger."

"We just put Stark in the police car we had behind the building," Thompson said. 

And this was why Bucky liked a roof over a window. He picked up his gun and jogged to the other side so he could see the alleys behind the building. A police car was peeling out, and there were two dead officers on the ground. "And somebody got your cops and took Stark. They're heading west up 63rd," he said, and he could see Steve take off running.

Sousa's voice crackled out of his speaker. "Thompson is bringing a car around. Are you coming, Barnes?"

"On my way."


	10. Chapter 10

He got down there just in time, and the car barely stopped for him to get it. Over the radio, a very out of breath Steve gasped, "They just turned down an alley."

"We're on our way," Peggy replied. "Where are you? Can you see if Howard is all right?"

"I'm at. . . 42nd and 9th. They're switching cars."

Thompson made an illegal turn and wove through traffic, dodging two cars by swerving up on the sidewalk. Bucky had to give him credit for driving skills. They caught up with Steve, and slowed so he could he could leap in the car. Bucky pulled his scope up to see if he could see who was in the black car Steve pointed out. A dark head—Howard—a blond woman and a bald man driving. "That's them."

Shifting, he rolled the window down. "Hey, Thompson. Keep it steady for me a minute."

"Bucky?"

Peggy put her face in her hands. "Oh God, it's like you're _contagious_."

"Hold this." He handed Amanda his gun, the heaved himself halfway out the window so he could brace his rifle on the roof of the car. After Amanda handed it back to him she hugged his legs, as if to keep him from falling out. 

He studied the car's occupants, and decided it was too risky to try and hit them without hitting Howard. It would be easier if everyone had stopped moving. So he shot out the car's back tires instead.

If the woman had been driving, she might have known what to do, how to compensate. But crazy Russian man didn't have any defensive driving skills. The car fishtailed and skidded sideways across the street, slamming into a light post on the passenger side.

Thompson came to a stop right next to the black car and Bucky pulled himself the rest of the way out the car, stalking over as Peggy and the others climbed out the normal way, guns drawn.

The blonde left Howard and scrambled out the far back door, turning and taking off at a dead run. He supposed someone should have shouted some sort of order to stop, with the vain idea you could arrest a professional assassin. He'd seen what the little girl in Russia had done, he didn't want to give this one a chance to turn around. At this distance he could make a headshot, and he didn't miss.

Steve yanked the driver's door off its hinges and Peggy rested the muzzle of her gun against Ivchenko's temple. "Not. A. Word."

Bucky lowered his gun. "You got him?" he asked Peggy and Steve, though he knew the answer.

"Yes," Peggy said. "Someone get Howard, he's not moving."

Amanda pushed past him and yanked the back door open, climbing in to check on Howard. She popped out a second later. "He's unconscious but there's a pulse, help me pull him out."

Bucky pulled open the opposite door. "Did they shoot him?"

Together they hauled him out of the car and onto the sidewalk. "The woman had a gun in her hand." She inspected Howard, finding a bloody spot on one sleeve. "It looks like a graze. Perhaps it went off when the car skidded. Looks like he banged his head in the crash." She dug in her bag and pulled out smelling salts which she snapped open under Howard's nose. "Wake up or I'll yell at you some more."

He stirred, and finally opened his eyes. He blinked up at her, then smiled. "Why, hello, Doc."

She grinned and laughed a little, in what sounded like relief. Then she bent down and kissed Howard's cheek. "Hello, idiot." She glanced at Bucky. "Sorry."

They'd hauled Ivchenko out of the car, and were cuffing him over the hood. "Where are the canisters?" Steve asked.

"Say anything else and we're going to start cutting off body parts," Peggy added.

The old man's jaw tightened and Bucky made a point to step into his eye line with his gun obvious. Finally he muttered. "Stark has a private hanger. They are loaded in one of the planes there."

"I thought we confiscated all Stark's planes," Thompson said.

"Well, I wasn't going to correct you," Jarvis replied. More cars had arrived, Bucky realized. He could see agents running to check on the blonde woman, whom he was sure was dead.

Someone slipped a gag into Ivchenko before shoving him into an SSR car. Bucky, Steve and Peggy congregated around the light post where Amanda had Howard propped up, stripped to his bullet proof vest and undershirt, while she cleaned and bandaged his arm. He already had gauze taped to his head. 

"You know, Doc, if you wanted to get my shirt off there are easier ways," he was saying as they stepped up.

"Howard, I can make this hurt less, or more, your choice."

"Jarvis has given us the address of the hangar, so someone is going to get the canisters," Bucky told them.

"Which are then being destroyed," Steve said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Howard sighed. "Yeah. In fact, as soon as my lawyers make the SSR give me back the rest it's all getting destroyed."

"Really?" Peggy sounded like Howard had just announced he was taking a vow of chastity.

"They're too dangerous for anyone to have. Not me and certainly not the government."

"Actually," Amanda said, tying off the bandage on his arm. "I had some ideas on improving a couple. Number nine is almost viable, I think your ratios just need tweaking."

He looked up at her, surprised. "Really?" It was as if it hadn't occurred to him someone could improve on his work.

"Yes. It's supposed to be industrial adhesive, yes?"

"Yeah, but it stops sticking after a week or two."

"Tweak the formula, make it gentle enough to use on skin, sounds like the perfect emergency wound sealant." She snapped her bag shut and patted his cheek. "You want to redeem yourself, Howard? Stop making weapons and start making things to help people."

Howard looked over at Bucky's arm. It seemed almost involuntary, but Bucky said, "Yeah, that too."

"Well. It's something to think about," he said, holding a hand up. Jarvis helped him to his feet. Howard looked around and clapped his hands together. "So. Who wants a drink?"

Bucky looked around, they'd gathered quite a crowd. People were pointing and talking, not at the car wreck, but at them. Apparently he'd been wrong about people not recognizing Steve out of his uniform.

One of them was a little kid, a dog eared comic in his fist. Bucky nudged Steve and pointed. "That one of yours?"

He looked at the kid, and smiled. "Yeah, I recognize the cover." The boy noticed Steve's attention. His eyes widened and he elbowed his friend.

The kids conspired a moment then one of them - the braver one, he supposed - said, "Hey Cap? Can we get an autograph?"

"Yes," Bucky replied, in case Steve had a mind to answer differently. He just chuckled, and the kid with the comic book came closer, enough Steve crouched down and he handed it over. "Somebody have a pen?" Bucky asked the rest of them.

Howard patted his pockets futilely. Jarvis sighed and pulled out a very nice pen from his inner coat pocket and handed it over. Steve braced the comic on his knee to scribble his name.

"You know if they're gonna make any more, Cap?" the brave kid asked.

He looked up. "They don't make them anymore?" he asked, and both kids shook their heads. "I will definitely look into that," Steve said. They grinned, took their comic book and sprinted away. Steve stood slowly. "I guess they would stop. My image rights reverted back to me at the end of the war." When Bucky raised an eyebrow, he added, "I didn't allow patriotism to let them take advantage of me."

Peggy put her hands on her hips. "Then why are you rescuing my alter ego Betty Carver every evening at seven?"

"Loophole. They'd optioned the radio rights to RKO before the Japanese surrendered. I'll be able to renegotiate in another eighteen months." She humphed a little bit.

"Seems like there might be a market for the real adventures of Captain America," Bucky offered. "Kinda like that movie we used to talk about."

"You think I should sell the movie rights?" he asked.

"Only if they can get Cary Grant."

"I don't need the money," he said. He sighed a little. "I liked the comics, though. When they let me draw some of them. I liked doing that."

"Then do that," Peggy said. "If you have the rights. Obviously there is a market." She gestured to where the boys had run off to.

"Huh." He stared off in the distance, the gears in his head clearly turning. "I'd need a writer."

"You could look up the guy who wrote them before," Bucky offered. It was better to push a little while the idea was fresh. "I don't recall them being too ridiculous."

"You punched Hitler a lot," Amanda added.

"He really needed punching," Steve replied. "You really think people would buy them?"

"Those kids sure would," Bucky said. "I doubt they’re the only ones. And you're the one who said you don't need money. Do it 'cause you love it, for the people who will really enjoy it."

He could see Steve smiling. "You know, that sounds like fun."

*

_September, 1946_

Peggy took the stairs up to the 4th floor where Steve had his studio, stepping around the few loose boards. Bucky promised to fix that after the honeymoon.

The walls were covered in pinned up sketches and drafts of pages of the next Captain America comic book. She didn't see Steve, but could hear the water running in the bathroom off the hall. She wandered over to look at what was half-done on his drafting table, and called out, "Darling, we're going to be late."

"I can't get the ink off my hands," came his reply through the closed door.

She smiled. The trials and tribulations of a comic book artist. "How bad is it? We could try dish soap."

He came out to show her. "I just feel like today I should not have stained hands."

"I think it's more important that the best man and matron of honor not be late." She inspected his hands. "They're not so bad. Hand him the rings with your left."

"Right." He looked at the clock on his desk. "I need to change."

"Yes. I promised Amanda I'd be there early enough to sit in the bride's room with her."

They went down to their bedroom, recently renovated as Steve worked his way through the house. She touched up her lipstick, but mostly watched him get into his tuxedo. He'd worn his dress uniform for their wedding, but Bucky had been pretty adamant they dress like civilians, even though technically neither of them were officially discharged. His official papers for a medical discharge were expected any day now. Steve was waiting out the rest of term doing PR appearances as Captain America. She knew he hated it, but it was temporary, and the time they were apart could be measured in days instead of months now.

She watched him carefully set his shirt studs and contemplated just how good he looked in that tux. She had to help him with his tie at the end, naturally, and took the opportunity to run her hands down his chest. "I cannot wait to get you home again after the reception."

Amanda and Bucky had been staying in one of Howard’s spare homes the last few months. Lovely as it had been to have her around when the boys were gone, four adults in one home was awkward. The others were, of course, technically living in sin, but that was hardly new for one of Howard's properties.

Peggy had kept one of the cats, however. She'd grown rather attached to the little thing.

Steve bent his head to kiss her. "If it were anyone else's wedding, I'd say skip it."

"Mmm. Anticipation can be quite invigorating." She reached behind him and gave him a little tap on the ass. "Come along, we're late."

The wedding itself was at a church in Brooklyn, not too far from where they lived. But the reception was being held at Howard's estate on Long Island just outside the city. If Howard was to be believed, it would be a party worthy of Jay Gatsby.

It had started with Jarvis simply helping Amanda and Mrs. Barnes find vendors for the simple wedding that was all Amanda and the Barnes's could afford. Apparently, simple was not good enough for Howard and one day Jarvis had completely taken over everything and Howard was footing the bill.

Which had suited Amanda rather well, as far as Peggy could tell. The only thing that she cared about was her dress, which she had hand embroidered over the course of the last three months. She'd told Peggy the rest of the planning had been utterly overwhelming and had made her sad, as her mother couldn't be there to help.

The church was beautiful. Once they'd parked she kissed Steve's cheek and went to find the bride's ready room. You could hear the noise level from inside the church, and there was a herd of people in the vestibule, lined up and waiting for the ushers to seat them. The Commandos were all decked out in tuxedos. She could hear Dugan complaining about said tuxedo, and Jones lecturing him about how he had no class, as she went by. Amanda was in a little room upstairs, across from the room where mothers took babies that were loud during Mass.

"It's quite packed down there," she said as she let herself in. "Who are all those people?"

"The entirety of James and Steve's neighborhood, near as I can tell." Someone had set up a little vanity in one corner, when Amanda was perched, touching up her make-up. She had made a rather valiant effort to cover up her scar. "When we were planning it, the guest list was about 80 people," she continued. "When Howard took over Maureen pulled out _her_ list and I just backed away slowly. Last I heard we were at 250."

She set down her powder and stood, smoothing her dress. It was fairly simple, lace bodice and sleeves, with a long, snug silk skirt and far more train than she would have expected Amanda to have. Peggy assumed that was Howard's doing, until the other woman stepped forward and she could see the edges of the train had been intricately embroidered with silver and gold thread.

"That is gorgeous," she said.

"Thank you," she said, twitching the train over so she could look at it. "It is very similar to the pattern of a tea set my mother had." She gave Peggy a wry smile. "Long story. Though at the moment I rather wish I'd eloped."

"I think that feeling is normal. It's only worrisome when you wish to flee the wedding _without_ the groom."

"No. I would need him to push people aside for me."

"I do have moments where I wish I'd done the whole white dress affair," Peggy admitted. "Not that my wedding wasn't lovely."

"I'm fairly certain your wedding is why I'm having this one." She gestured to the church around them. "That, or Howard has simply adopted me, I'm not entirely sure."

"He is very fond of you, you know. I think having a genuine professional friendship with a woman is novel for him. And also probably good for him." 

Amanda smiled. "I like Howard very much. I always wanted a brother to fight with. Did you know he's learning German? So he can truly appreciate the things I call him."

"That is so _very_ him."

There was a light tap at the door and Howard poked his head in. "Are my ears burning?"

"Howard, what if I'd been indecent?" Amanda asked.

"Then I'd have gotten one good thrill before you were off the market forever."

"How are things looking out there?" Peggy asked.

"Almost everyone is seated. They said they'd be ready for us in five."

Amanda muttered something under her breath in German that sounded like a prayer, then went back to the mirror to check her make up again.

"Once you see him, you won't care," Peggy told her.

"I hope so," she said.

"Here, maybe this will distract you." Howard dug into his pocket and pulled out a string of pearls, which he held out to Amanda.

She frowned at him. "Howard. I said no gifts."

"And I ignored you." When she didn't come to him he went to her, putting the necklace around her neck. "This is the kind of thing a woman passes down to her daughter on her wedding day. Since you don't have that option, I figured I'd step in."

For a moment Amanda looked close to tears. Then she turned and hugged him. "Thank you, Howard."

He patted her back, holding her tightly. Peggy couldn't read his expression, but she thought he might be a little choked up himself.

Finally, he let go, stepping back. "I'll go see if they're ready for us to line up."

Soon they were downstairs, waiting for the door to open. Peggy spread out Amanda's train and fussed with her flowers. She straightened Howard's boutonniere. 

"Last chance to run away with me," he said to Amanda, and Peggy rolled her eyes.

She kissed his cheek. "Perhaps in another life."

The church organ started the processional, and the doors opened. She hadn't walked up any sort of aisle at her wedding, and the crowd had been small. Now she was coming up the long aisle of a crowded church, in a floor length silk dress, Steve watching her from the top. She met his eyes, wondering if this felt as surreal to him as it did to her.

He grinned and waggled his fingers at her in a wave. She smiled back and had to make a conscious effort to go to the empty side of the altar and not to his side. When she was in place the organ music changed and the crowd got to their feet as the doors opened again and Amanda and Howard started down the aisle.

The entire Mass was in latin. Amanda wasn't Catholic, and didn't intend to become so. Pulling this off had been a feat, but apparently even the Archbishop of New York was a fan of Captain America. Steve liked using his fame for good.

Bucky choked up a bit as he said his vows and Amanda didn't sound any more contained. She slipped his ring on his right hand - Howard planned to solder one onto the left later. The priest gave them his blessing, pronounced them man and wife. And then Bucky lifted the veil, wrapped his arms around her and dipped her, to a roar of applause from the crowd.

They went down the aisle, and she got to tuck her hand into Steve's elbow as they followed. "Hello, Mrs. Rogers," he said with a grin.

"Hello Captain Rogers," she replied. "Do you wish we'd had such a fuss?"

"No. I do not. Do you?"

"I do not. I think our wedding was just perfect." She smiled. "Though it was nice to pretend for a moment."

"I would throw you a shindig if you wanted one." He leaned over and kissed her temple.

"Thank you, darling. But I'm quite content to enjoy this one. I prefer our quiet nights at home to any crowd of people." She squeezed his arm as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Bucky and Amanda were climbing into a sleek black limo - courtesy of Howard, of course - that would take them to the reception. "Have you told him about your wedding present yet?"

"Presents are for the reception." Steve had bought Bucky and Amanda a house, up the street from his and Peggy's. It was in only slightly better shape than their house had been when bought, but Bucky was good at building and fixing things. The two of them were tired of living in Howard's house—the fancy furniture made Bucky nervous—and didn't exactly fit in in its ritzy Manhattan neighborhood.

"If they wish to repay us I think we should have Amanda come cook us dinner regularly."

"You really do miss her food, don't you?"

"It was very homey." Truth was, she did miss Amanda, on occasion. She was happy they would be down the street. "I am not nearly as good in the kitchen." Her meatloaf had been serviceable, but her spaetzle had ruined a perfectly good pan and required them to keep the kitchen windows open for days.

They got into the car to head out to the reception. Howard had tried to give them a Cadillac, as a thank-you gift. Steve insisted their neighborhood couldn't handle a Cadillac parked on the street, and talked him down to a Ford. It was nearly impossible to say no to a gift entirely.

They joined the long procession of cars out of the city to Long Island. Howard had valets working, so Steve was able to hand the keys over and climb out right up front. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm again as they walked inside. 

It was as elaborate a party as she'd ever seen. They'd really pulled out all the stops. After their stint in the receiving line, they had a delicious dinner, and then there was an official dance. She could tell it made Steve nervous by how he fidgeted.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's a slow song," she whispered. "Just hold me and turn."

He stood up and took her hand. "Everyone has a weakness."

They walked out to the dance floor. "As weaknesses go, this is rather adorable." That made him smile, and he wrapped her in his arms. Bucky and Amanda seemed engaged in a full scale waltz, but thankfully no one was expecting that of the bridal party.

Still, it was nice to dance with him. She was the only woman who ever did—or had. She rested her head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. "I love you," she murmured. Sometimes she was so full of the emotion she had to say it out loud.

"I love you," he replied, kissing her hair. "Thank you for putting up with me."

"Oh, it's my pleasure. I hope to do so for a very long time."

"I'll probably screw up again, at some point in those years."

She leaned back to look at him. "I know. So will I. We're both stubborn. And prideful. We just need to remember that we're a team and talk to each other. And I think we'll be fine."

"Maybe at some point I'll even learn how to dance."

Stretching up to kiss him, she said, "In time, anything is possible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this snuck up on me a little.
> 
> Thanks for reading! We eagerly await Carter season 2 and potential plots to be found therein.


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